


Winter's Peace

by JustAJellyfish, obsessedauthorchan



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 21st century probs, Angst, Canon Divergence, Clarrissa got sass, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt!Steve, I'm sorry i just couldnt let him die, Mentions of Murder, More tags might be added later - Freeform, Mutation, Nightmares, Physical hurt/comfort, Pietro Lives, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sad!Bucky, Slow Burn, a bit of violence, bucky also needs a hug, bucky needs an education, but its a marvel fic, buut it isnt extremely detailed, ccause there's slow burn, depressed!Bucky, did I mention slow burn, disney movies!, emotional roller-coaster, friends to couple romance, he was too adorable, hurt!bucky, hydra is mean to bucky, lots of canon divergence, mentions of torture, possible triggers, powers, steve and bucky play with an actual frisbee, the fluff, you should expect at least some violence, yup lots of canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAJellyfish/pseuds/JustAJellyfish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessedauthorchan/pseuds/obsessedauthorchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has been looking for Bucky since the Project Insight Failure. Sam's been helping, but even with that and the occasional help from Natasha, Steve's search is going nowhere fast.<br/>So he brings in the specialist.<br/>Clarrissa Barton, Clint Barton's younger sister, is a computer geek who is very gifted at finding people who don't want to be found. If she can't find them, they don't exist.<br/>It comes as no surprise to Clarrissa when she gets a hit. But then Steve actually gets hit. Hard. Now he's in a coma, Bucky is a wreck, and Tony isn't making anything easier.<br/>Can Clarrissa help the Winter Soldier become Bucky once more? And how will he respond when he finds out there's more to her than meets the eye?</p>
<p>I'm bad at summaries. As I'm sure you noticed. Just try it. Don't like, don't read anymore. No biggie, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I found Him

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergence includes the fact that Clint Barton doesn't have a sister named Clarrissa. I have taken basically every liberty with the Barton back story. It's fanfic, though, so how much canon can you really expect?
> 
> All references are purely references. I own nothing. I don't have a penny to my name, probably because Jellyfish isn't my name. Or is it?
> 
> I'm not a computer person, nor am I a super agent person thing, so if stuff doesn't sound legit, doesn't make sense, or isn't how it actually works, and you know better, inform me. I love feedback.

Steve

"Look, Clarrissa, I really appreciate you doing this." I addressed the woman standing across from me, staring at one of Stark's high tech computer things. Her long dirty blonde hair kept falling in her hazel eyes as she worked, causing her to swipe her hair behind her ears every couple of minutes. But it would eventually fall again. Ears aren't the most efficient hair clips.

"It's no problem, Steve." She looked up at me for a few seconds, flashing me one of her genuine smiles. I swear that kid had the best smile, sweet enough to make you lethargic. She was only about 24, so she wasn't really a kid anymore, but since I was over 90 years old, I think I can call her that. "Sergeant Barnes has been through a lot. I know how much he means to you. It's time to bring him home." Her eyes went back to the holographic projection in front of her. 

A small smile appeared on my lips. I tried not to let it show how worried I was. It had been nearly a year since the crash in the Potomac, and there hadn't been a single lead on Bucky. Clarrissa Barton, Agent Clint Barton's younger sister, had only started helping me look a couple days ago, but she was one of the best in the world. If she didn't find a clue to his location in the next two weeks or so, the case was pretty much hopeless. All those years as the Winter Soldier had probably given him a lot of experience with disappearing and hiding. Even though Clarri was using some of the best of Stark's tech, located on one of the upper levels of Stark Tower itself, Bucky might just be too good for us to find. My heart sunk even lower at the thought of never finding Bucky.

Apparently Clarri noticed my less-than-perfect mood, because she walked around the computer she was working at to stand in front of me. Putting one hand on my shoulder, she looked into my blue eyes with her hazel ones. "I know you're worried, but you shouldn't be. Hydra's not around to hide him anymore, and there are only so many places in the world he can go. Besides, he's from another age. I doubt Hydra has been keeping him up to date with the modern world. He doesn't have people showing him the ropes like you do. Eventually, he'll slip up because he doesn't know any better. Patience is a virtue, Cap. After being stuck in ice for 70 years, I would think you'd know that." 

She gave me a teasing smile, earning a slight chuckle from me. After everything she'd been through she still had a good heart. I didn't want to burden that heart with my persistent worrying, so I changed the subject. "Any luck finding Banner yet?" When Tony Stark agreed to let Clarri use his tech to find Bucky, he also asked for her help in tracking down Bruce Banner, the Hulk, who disappeared after we defeated Ultron.

I wished I had chosen something else. Her smile immediately turned into a disappointed frown. "No. After all those years being incognito from S.H.I.E.L.D, he's gotten really good at hiding. I keep thinking he's probably somewhere in the Middle East, because that's where he hid last time, or Africa, because of all the disease there. He may be the Hulk, but he's still a doctor." I nodded my understanding. If Bruce was going to disappear, he would still want to be able to help people. "The problem is a lot of the countries he is most likely to go either don't have many security cameras and stuff for me to use to find him, or they hoard the footage like Smaug hoards treasure." She pushed her index finger into the point of her nose, a habit I've noticed she does when she's confused or worried.

Clarri walked back to her computer. She hit a couple buttons, if you can call them buttons when they're a hologram, and stared at the screen. She'd been doing this for hours and her eyes were beginning to get bloodshot. "When was the last time you got any sleep?" As much as I wanted to find Bucky, I didn't want Clarri to wear herself out because I asked her for help.

She smirked, playfully rolling her eyes. "I'm fine, Steve. I've been doing the whole staring-at-computers-nonstop-for-hours thing for years. I know my limit. I won't push myself." When I gave her a doubting look, she made eye contact with me. "I promise, Steve. I know I'm no good to anyone when I'm exhausted." I nodded, and she smirked again, returning her gaze to the screen in front of her.

After about 30 minutes of me watching her stare at a hologram, she looked up at me. "Steve, go home and get some rest. You're not doing anything anyways, and I promise you'll be the first to know when I find something."

I was really glad she said when she found something, no if. After mentally debating the pros and cons of leaving, I decided she was right. I was probably being a distraction anyway. "Alright," I said. "Let me know if you need anything."

She nodded her agreement, and I picked up my jacket. I waved goodbye, rode the elevator down to the ground floor, mounted my new motorcycle, and left Clarrissa Barton to find my long lost best friend.

Clarrissa

Once Steve left, I was alone with Friday, Tony's replacement from when Jarvis turned into Vision. Shortly after coming to Stark Tower to join the search for Bucky, I discovered that I actually enjoyed making mindless chitchat with Friday as I worked, throwing in the occasional command or request. 

As I worked, I kept making adjustments in the searches I was making. I removed certain features like hair color and style, eye color, facial hair, etc. Anything that could be the result of a disguise. Basically, my search was using the shape of Bucky's head, jawline, and cheekbones as a means of identification. I then ran that visual ID comparison through every piece of visual data I could get my hands on: security footage from everything I could hack into (pretty much everything), pictures and videos on phones, social media, and the internet in general, passports and driver's licenses, and anything else I could use to compare to the photos I had of Bucky. 

Mostly, Friday did the scanning, and when something matched the general shape of Bucky's features, Friday let me know, showing me the picture. I would then decide if it was possible the pic was of Bucky. If so, the image was run through anything that might get a confirmed ID. If the picture couldn't be identified, Steve would decide whether or not it was an actual lead on the whereabouts of Sergeant Barnes.

Not one picture had made it that far. It was really starting to take a toll on Steve. I could tell it was hurting him not knowing where his best friend in the world was. For all we knew, Bucky could be dead. He was pretty badly injured from his fight with Cap the day of Hydra's 'invasion'. We had gotten far enough in our search to know that Bucky hadn't paid any visits to a single hospital, clinic, or ER. He could have died of his wounds not too long after dragging Steve out of the Potomac.

After sitting in front of the hologram for another couple hours, I realized I was getting really tired. I made one more adjustment to the search, figuring that since he had been AWOL for nearly a year now, he was more likely to be in certain places than others. Remembering my promise to Steve, I told Friday to alert me of any developments and headed off to bed.

*****

I woke up to Friday's voice. Sitting up in bed, I asked her to start the message over now that I was actually conscious again. "A possible match for Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was discovered via security cameras at a mall in Boston, Massachusetts." I immediately leaped out of bed, rushing to the tech room two stories up from the bedroom Stark had loaned me. 

The moment I got to the computer, Friday brought up the image via holographic projection. Grabbing the picture Steve had given me of Bucky, I held it up next to the once Friday had found. I was shocked at what I saw.

The picture I held in my hand was obviously of the same man as the one from Boston. The only differences were that the photo from Steve showed a man with short hair and a clean-shaven face. There was a spark of joy and hope in his eyes that could be seen even in the black-and-white photo from the 40's. 

The picture from the security cameras depicted a man with hair coming down slightly past his shoulders and a 2 week beard on his face. The full color picture showed eyes that were empty, hallow. Dead. You could tell just by looking that he was a broken man with a tragic story, even without knowing his identity.

Regardless of the differences, it was obviously Bucky Barnes in both pictures. I didn't even bother to ask Friday to search the records for an ID. I was already certain.

I grabbed my phone from where it lay on a desk a few feet away and dialed Steve's number, not knowing or caring that it was 4 a.m. Steve must have known what I was calling for, because when he picked up he immediately asked, with a voice of equal hope and trepidation, "Do you think you have something?"

"No, Steve, I don't think so. I know." I waited for a few seconds before finishing my statement.

"I found him."


	2. The Empty Blue Oceans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Steve prepares to find our favorite seasonal soldier, and the Bucky feels begin. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my very first commenter, Wicked_Falcon, and my second commenter, Wintersgirl. Thanks, lovelies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is the place where I should give you a warning for feels. Bucky feels. This fic is full of them. Happy Bucky, sad Bucky, hurt Bucky, cocky Bucky. This fic is the digital incarnation of Bucky feels that chose of its own volition to manifest itself in the form of English, on the Jellyfish's account. Enjoy. 
> 
> I had intended to make you wait for a bit before I updated again, but I wasn't sure when I'd be able to update if I waited longer than this. I spend most of the year in Africa, and some stuff's going down, so the prayers should pray, the wishers should wish, and all of you should bless me with the best of luck that I survive till my next birthday.
> 
> Beta'd by yours truly, so tell me what I missed.

Clarrissa 

Steve immediately hung up. The Avengers wouldn't be moving into Stark Tower officially until next month, so Steve would probably take about 10 minutes to get here. Until then, I went through all the steps to pinpointing Bucky's exact position. "Friday, when was this image taken?"

The AI computer program responded immediately, her words as precise and exact as always. "This photograph was taken exactly 9 hours 24 minutes and 33 seconds ago. It took 9 hours and 1 minute for the image to be entered into my image search, 18 minutes and 5 seconds for the image to run through my database, 1 ½ minutes to match the image to the one provided by Captain Rogers, 47 seconds for me to fully awaken you and relay the message, 1 minute and 14 seconds for you to ascend two flights of stairs to reach the computer, 10 seconds for you to confirm this image as being of Sergeant Barnes, 27 seconds to get Captain Rogers on the phone, 17 seconds were spent by you talking to the Captain, and 13 seconds for you to end the call with the Captain and ask when the picture was taken. It took 58 seconds for me break down the time for you, so the picture is now approximately 26 minutes old, give or take a few seconds. But that has changed again because time is continuous, so it has now been-"

"Friday! Stop." I just had to interrupt her. "I just wanted a basic estimate. I'll let you know if I want an update on the time frame."

"Of course, Agent Barton."

"Friday, my brother is Agent Barton. I am Clarrissa, or Clarri, or Clare. Understand?" I had had to tell the computer that about 2 million times, but either she kept forgetting, which since Tony designed her and she's a computer I doubt it, or she just didn't care what my preference was.

"Of course, Clarrissa."

That was better. Hopefully this time it would last.

For the remainder of the time until Steve arrived, I continue to ask Friday more detailed questions, like which mall it was. Upon my request, she played a copy of the security footage, a red arrow drawn on the hologram to ensure I always knew Bucky's location in the video. 

It appeared Bucky was buying clothes, which, judging by his disheveled, malnourished, blood-soaked appearance, he definitely needed. I was surprised nobody had reported him to the authorities, or at least gave him weird looks, because of all the blood and dirt stains in his clothes, body, and hair. Maybe I only noticed because I was a trained Agent of SHIELD, or maybe nobody in the mall noticed because they were in their own little world, or on their phones.

I didn't get to finish the video before Steve arrived. He walked in, excitement and hope etched into his face, but when he saw the video playing, and noticed Bucky's appearance, his eyes nearly jumped out of his skull. "Friday, pause the video and zoom in on Bucky!" Steve ordered, and Friday complied. I was impressed that he had used such currant language, and was aware that that could be done. Apparently he had been learning well.

Steve

When Friday finished enlarging the image, centering it on Bucky (I was secretly proud of my new computer knowledge), I had to force myself to hold back a sob. He was so malnourished. I could tell he hadn't been eating well. My training from boot camp, SHIELD, and Natasha kicked in, flooding my brain with other facts about my best friend.

He had already purchased clothes to replace his combat suit, but they were old, and he probably didn't have any spares. That's why they were so dirty and faded. That meant the blood splattered on his shirt and pants, and in his hair, was from after Project Insight had crashed into the Potomac. I couldn't tell if it was his own blood or someone else's. 

He was wearing a hoodie, with the hood up, partially casting his face in shadow. The long sleeves, combined with gloves, hid his metal arm. That was probably why our searches for reports of someone with a metal prosthetic had been futile. 

Before the train accident, Bucky's eyes had been full of kindness, compassion, love, hope, and happiness. As the Winter Soldier, his eyes had held hatred, anger, a hint of self-loathing, and determination. But now, as a broken man with no home, all on his own, the blue orbs held nothing. No hope, no love, no anger, zero determination. There was nothing there. He was empty and broken. The only sign of life in those icy blue oceans was a small hint of guilt, but that was barely distinguishable. I couldn't make anything else out from the picture.

I could feel the tears starting to slip past my flimsy facade at the sight of what my oldest, dearest friend had become. He was like my brother, more than a brother. And he was hurting. He was broken. He was hallow. 

It killed me.

After taking a moment to compose myself so I wouldn't cry in front of Clarri, I asked Friday to continue playing the security footage. I watched as he went to a couple different stores. He had a slight limp, though he was really good at hiding it. Every few seconds he would glance over his shoulder, looking around for anything suspicious, anything that might try to hurt him. He didn't steal anything. He paid with money. Where he got that money, I had no idea. He probably stole it from someone. Even still, I was glad he wasn't stealing from the actual mall itself. 

I never took my eyes off the screen as I addressed Clarri. "Where was he, and how old is this footage?" Clarri filled me in on everything she knew as I continued to watch Bucky, my attention split between the two. I got out the Stark phone Tony had given me for Christmas, the one I still didn't really know how to operate, and was about to call Tony to ask if I could take his private jet to Boston. As I swiped the screen to turn it on, I caught the time. 4:30 a.m.

"I thought you were going to get some sleep, Clarri." I looked over at her, giving the young woman a slightly worried look.

Clarrissa rolled her eyes at me. "I did sleep, Steve. Friday woke me up when she found this image. I did promise you I would take care of myself, didn't I?"

"Oh, right," I said sheepishly, a little embarrassed that I had doubted her. She smirked playfully, letting me know she didn't take offense.

"Do you think Stark is awake? I need a ride to Boston, and he might let me use his jet, since I don't have a car and it's a little far to run." I changed the topic, partly from my lingering embarrassment, partly because I actually needed to.

Clarri nodded. "Stark is almost always awake. He's probably tinkering with his toys in his workshop. Call and ask. If I do it, he'll ask me how my search for Bruce is going." Her eyes widened in slight anxiety. Then she yawned, slurring her next words. "I definitely do not need to have that conversation this early in the morning."

I nodded, scrolling through my contacts, which I actually had a lot of, despite the fact that I pretty much never call or 'text' anyone. I found Tony's number and pressed the call button, knowing that Tony always had his phone on him. There was probably a pocket in his PJ's so he could sleep with it, too.

Clarrissa

As Steve talked with Tony about getting a ride, I tried to figure out where Bucky was at that exact moment. If he had been at the mall over 9 hours ago, he had almost definitely already left. I asked Friday if there were any outdoor security cameras that might have seen which direction he left in. Friday said there were only a few, but they were all in the parking garage and Bucky hadn't used a car. 

Though he had looked ragged, I realized that, since Bucky apparently had money, it was possible that he could be staying in a hotel. I knew that a lot of hotels used electronic registering systems, so I asked Friday to run a scan through every hotel/inn within 10 miles of the mall, looking for a room registered to a name that could possibly be an alias. Just as Friday got done with that, Steve finished his conversation with Tony, hanging up.

"Tony said we could use the jet. He's having Friday set the jet on autopilot, so I won't have to fly it, and she'll use your information to land me as close to Bucky's approximate location as possible." Steve's eyes were alive with hope at the idea of finally finding his friend. My heart kind of swelled at the thought of how much Steve cared about Bucky. It reminded me so much of my relationship with Clint. Even though he was away a lot on missions for SHIELD or the Avengers, or off at his farm with his wife and kids, he visited me as often as he could and always kept in touch, which I appreciated.

I nodded my head. "I'm doing another search to find the most likely locations for him at this exact moment. I can send you a list as soon as it's compiled." Steve agreed, and I turned my attention to the AI responsible for Tony's precious jet. "Friday, how long until the jet is ready to fly?"

"Approximately 57 seconds, Clarrissa." I smiled when she got my name right.

Turning to Cap, I gave him a grin. "You'd better get going. I'll send you the list, probably while you are still in the air. Let me know if you need anything, like backup in a fight or something."

Cap gave me a confused expression. "What could you possibly do if I needed backup in a fight?"

Hiding my offense at his question, I responded. "I'm a trained SHIELD agent, with kick-butt moves. And I have Clint Barton for a brother. If I couldn't handle myself in a fight, he'd have me locked in the barn at his country farm with his wife and kids. Besides, didn't he tell you my little secret?"

Steve's cheeks reddened with embarrassment, again. "I only meant that you are here in New York, while I'll be in Boston. And," he continued, trepidation crawling onto his face, "he did tell me about your secret, but he also said you were only to use it in necessary, life-or-death situations."

I sighed at my big brother's over-protectiveness. What was the point of my secret if I could never put it to good use? "If Captain America gets into a fight and he needs backup, I'm pretty sure it's a necessary, life-or-death situation, Steve."

He chuckled, and nodded, acknowledging my point. "Alright, alright. I'll call you if I need you. In the mean time, though, keep looking for more detailed info on Bucky's location."

I nodded, waving goodbye as he headed over to the stairs, making his way to the jet. A minute later I heard the jet taking off. I shook my head at the craziness of it all and got back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, duuuuuun. 
> 
> Thoughts? Feelings? Violent intent towards the author? 
> 
> I own nothing. Except parts of the plot. And the occasional OC here and there that pop up out of the ground like dwarves (poor Gimli).


	3. They Found Him, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky!!!!!
> 
> Feels!!!!!
> 
> Or, the one in which Steve goes to Boston and Bucky runs in to some of those bullies Steve doesn't like. Namely, Hydra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight violence, but nothing graphic. Seriously, if you've seen the movies, this is nothing.

Steve

I had only been in the plane for about half an hour when Clarri sent me the list of hotels he could possibly be in, along with the names that could be aliases. I scrolled through the list on my phone. There was one about a quarter way through that was in bold, probably meaning Clarri thought it was the most likely to be him. 

As I looked at it, I noticed there was definitely something different about this particular item on the list. It wasn't the hotel, a modest, extremely cheap inn about 4 miles from the mall, because a lot of the items on the list were cheap. It wasn't the name of the inn, the Kummon Inn, because most modest inns weren't part of some chain of hotels that had recognizable names. 

It must have been the name, the possible pseudonym for Bucky. Sasha Zachiek. It was Russian. Spending the last 70 years with Hydra, Bucky must have been pretty familiar with Russian names and culture, not to mention fluent in the Russian language. He would probably be pretty good at acting like a Russian. It definitely made sense for that one to be him. I decided to check that one first.

*****

Once the jet landed, only a dozen miles away from the Kummon Inn, I immediately headed in that direction. I guess all my training actually had a point, because I made it 14 miles to the inn without so much as heavy breathing. Super-soldier serums come in handy after all. Who would have guessed?

I walked up to the reception desk, asking for the room number for Sasha Zachiek. She immediately recognized me as Captain America. Barely containing her excitement at meeting an Avenger, she said that she regretted to inform me that, though Mr. Zachiek did in fact have a room at the inn that night, he had left less than an hour ago and had yet to return.

I asked the woman, Margot, if she could describe Sasha's appearance. She rattled off a list of characteristics that perfectly matched Bucky's appearance. I also asked if she knew where Sasha (Bucky) was going, when he would be back, or what direction he had gone in.

"All I know," she said, "is that he was mumbling something like 'They found me,' and 'I thought they got 'em all.' He looked pretty distressed. Also, when he left, he was walking east, and he had his bag with him. He paid last night, so it wouldn't entirely surprise me if he didn't come back."

I thanked her for her help, gave her Clarri's number, telling her to call if Sasha Zachiek returned, and left. Checking the position of the now-rising sun, I turned toward it, making my way east as Bucky apparently had.

I started to run, thinking I might catch up with him faster. As I ran, I thought about what Margot had said. Bucky knew someone had found him, which was possibly Clarri and I, though how he would know that, I had no clue. But he also said he thought 'they' had gotten them all. The 'they' in the first sentence didn't seem to match up very well with the 'they' in the second sentence.

After careful contemplation, I decided that the two theys were probably referring to different people. I also thought there was a chance that the second 'they' was in reference to SHIELD or the Avengers and the 'them all' that he thought we had gotten could possibly be Hydra.

I called Clarri to ask her thoughts on the matter. She agreed with me and said she thought I should hurry. The first 'they' could easily be a reference to Hydra, and if it was, it meant Hydra had found Bucky, the Winter Soldier who had failed his mission and saved his target, me, instead of killing him. After hanging up with Clarri, I began to run a little faster.

*****

Bucky

I walked, knowing that running would attract too much attention. I had one duffle slung over my shoulder, like Santa Claus (who was he again?), and I had a couple guns hidden on me in various, easy-to-reach places. I would have worn my bullet proof combat suit, but I knew it would attract attention, as well. 

So, instead, I walked through Boston, Massachusetts in jeans, a long-sleeve, plain maroon t-shirt, green high top converse, gloves on my hands to hide my metal appendage, and a blue baseball cap. In my duffle, I had my combat suit, a couple extra shirts, a hoodie, 5 pairs of socks, toiletries I had picked up at a place called Walmart, and my machine gun, which was too big to hide on my person. The bag was heavy, but I was built like a soldier, so it wasn't too bad.

The sun was rising in front, because I was still headed east from when I had left the hotel. I don't know where I had gotten that name from. I think it belonged to one of my trainers or something, from a few wipes ago. 

That's how I measured time, now. Not in years, or months. Those meant nothing to me. I didn't age correctly anymore, because they gave me a serum that had similar, though not exactly the same, effects as the one Steve got, and the Crile freeze had messed with my body's aging as well. So time on a clock or calendar had no effect on me. And they never told me what day it was, or what year, when I was awake at the base, training my butt off. I only ever knew what the date was when I was let out of my little Hydra cage on a mission and I happened to see a newspaper or something. 

No, the wipes were the only thing that really mattered when I was with Hydra. In the last year, since I left Hydra and was finally allowed to remember, I had been getting flashbacks, little memories, but my brain couldn't seem to keep up, so I couldn't even remember all that I had remembered. 

What I did know was that during my time with Hydra I had received about 97 wipes, give or take a few, often more than once a year. Sometimes I managed to go a whole year without one, but that was only when I was frozen for all or most of the time. 

As the time went by, I noticed the people around me aging, while I wasn't. I noticed several of my trainers and superiors being replaced because they had died or gotten too old. I hadn't really thought about it much, being the obedient little soldier that never asked questions, the one they had forced me to be. After Project Insight failed and I started to remember, I ordered my few recovered memories as what came before the wipes, and in between the nearly 100 wipes I had endured.

The wipes didn't just empty me so that I was a hollow shell for them to fill, a blank slate for Hydra to right on. The wipes did more than just terminate the man I was before I was Winter Soldier. The messed with my brain. My logical reasoning, my reflexes, my ability to learn skills, all those things were fine. But my ability to remember events, my ability to make new memories, the part of the brain responsible for personality, the ability to determine right from wrong, and several other things were all damaged. 

The brain can heal itself, a little, or at least reassign certain functions to new parts of the brain or something. But it takes time. A long time. I know this because I consumed every book I could find on the subject. Because I want to get myself back.

I remembered the wipes being more frequent in the beginning. The technology hadn't been perfected yet, so the first 10 or so wipes didn't quite do the job. Instead each one got a little piece of me. My childhood memories, all my memories of Steve, my time in the army, the time I had been captured and experimented on before Steve came to rescue me, my hatred for Hydra, my personality, etc. They were all taken from me in chunks, until I was no longer Bucky. I was nothing. Then, I became the Winter Soldier.

I still don't really have a good idea of who Bucky is, who I am. I visited Steve's exhibit at the Smithsonian, and I saw the parts about me. It helped return some of my memories. But I still don't really know much about myself. My favorite color, food, song, animal, etc. I have no idea. I guess I could come up with new stuff, start over with myself, but if I ever run into Steve again, if he can ever accept me regardless of the monster Hydra had made me, I want to be the friend he remembered.

I want to be Bucky again. For him. Steve knows more about me than me. If I don't return to my former self, would he still even want me as a friend, even without my past as the Winter Soldier?

As I walked, a felt a tear slide over my cheek. The Winter Soldier was supposed to show no emotion. I wasn't supposed to be human. I was supposed to be a machine, a killing machine designed to bring death, and only death. Crying was definitely out of the question. But now that I was finally doing it again, for the first time in about 70 years, it felt so good. It was a wonderful thing to be able to release all the emotion inside myself, more than half a century's worth. I kept crying, letting the salty trails of water make slow rivers down my face.

The day was progressing, and people were starting to get out of bed and face the day. The people I passed gave me weird looks when they noticed such a big, intimidating guy crying like a kid. I didn't want to stop crying, so I turned into an alley. I slid my back down one of the walls until my knees were bent against my chest.

I kept crying. I cried for the pain I had felt: the pain of falling out of the train, the pain of them putting on my metal arm, the pain of all those memory wipes, the pain of waking up and knowing I had hurt Steve, I had tried to kill him. I cried for all my physical pain, my mental pain, my emotional pain. 

I cried so much I was pretty sure I was dehydrated. I cried for all the people I had killed in the name of Hydra. I cried for the innocent, good people who had lost their lives, been wiped from earth like my memories were wiped from my mind, by the Winter Soldier. I cried because I wasn't the man I was before falling out of the train, I cried for the monster I had become in his place, and I cried because I didn't know who to be anymore.

My new memories and slowly recovering brain were in a constant battle against my training and my life as Hydra's pet Soldier. Every time someone reached into a bag or pocket, I fought the urge to kill them before they could hurt me with whatever weapon they were getting out, and then I would find them taking out a cell phone or a wallet instead of a knife or a gun. 

A/N there's a fight scene in this chapter. It isn't too graphic or anything, just thought I'd warn those of you who don't like that stuff. But if you are reading a marvel fanfic with the words "Steve is unconscious" you should probably expect some violence

I got to the point where I didn't think I would ever stop crying when I heard a sound at the end of the alley from where I was crouched in the middle. I looked up, my tears forgotten as the Soldier within me surfaced. There were 4 men on one side of the alley, and with a quick glance in the other direction, I saw 4 more on the other end. 3 men from each group made their way toward me, leaving one to guard each end of the alley.

Immediately, I stood up, but I waited to get out a gun. The moment they saw my hand move was the moment they opened fire. Without my bullet proof combat suit, I was much more vulnerable than usual. Of course, I could still handle them. It was just a matter of playing it smart.

The six men continued to close in on me. Apparently, they were trying to get as close as possible so that it would be harder for them to miss and harder for me to dodge. Unfortunately for them, I excel at close range combat. 

When they were about 3 meters (9 feet, curse my Russian training) away, they stopped walking and made a half-circle around me, with my back still against a wall. I decided it wasn't time to move yet, so I stood still as a statue, just like I was trained.

One of the men was standing directly across from my face, and when he took in the sight of my red, puffy appearance, he burst out laughing. Another man, at my 3 o'clock, asked him what he thought was so funny. I could hear the fear in the voice. Having a reputation like mine could come in handy at times.

The first man, my 12 o'clock, took a minute to answer because he was laughing too hard. When he did, I had to do everything in my power not to pull out my gun right then and do something stupid, which would likely get me killed. The man spoke in Russian, confirming my suspicion that they were Hydra. "You'll never believe this! The Winter Soldier, one of the most feared men in the world, is crying like a little kid!" With that, he broke into another round of hysterics. Dumb move. When you're laughing so hard tears come out of your eyes, you can't see very well. And if you can't see, you can't fight. All my tears were dry now. As most of the other men started laughing along, I figured it was about time to get the battle started.

I reached for the gun shoved in the back of my jeans. When they realized what I was doing, they opened fire. But I wasn't standing in the same place any more. I had used the wall against my back to propel my body up in the air, so when they opened fire, they were shooting around the place where my feet were. As I continued to get higher in the air, I tucked my feet in, so they couldn't hit them either.

In my current position in the air, I was curled into a ball. I used that position to my advantage. Just as the men below figured out what had happened and adjusted their aim, I pushed myself out of my ball, slamming my feet against the wall, which propelled me forward into the other wall, where there was a fire escape. I latched on with my metal arm, and used my right arm to shoot at the men below. I hit one in the shoulder, another in the leg. 

I jumped over the railing and, standing on the fire escape with my hands available, I pulled out a second gun and rapid-fired at my enemies. Unfortunately, by this time they had readjusted themselves again, so I only got a few shots in. In my haste, all of them missed but one, which took out a guy's ear.

As they started shooting again, I jumped off the fire escape and landed close to the one who I had shot in the leg. I kicked his wound, dislocating his knee and bringing him down. I kicked him again, this time in the face, knocking him out, while I simultaneously turned to my next opponent. 

He was pointing a hand-gun at my chest, so I grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward me. I slammed his hand into my knee, making him drop the gun. Then I spun him around, letting him take the shots that were being fired at me.

Once he was dead, he wouldn't stand up on his own anymore (obviously). Instead of trying to hold him up, I threw him at another one of the men, taking him down. I threw myself at a guy to my left, my metal fist connecting with his nose. It shattered, sending shards into his brain, killing him instantly.

Up to this point, I thought I was doing pretty well. Then, it hit me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky.


	4. Golden Boy to the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Steve finds Bucky. And stuff. \o/

A/N the fight scene from the previous chapter is continued in this one. It shouldn't be too bad, but if you have an extraordinarily powerful imagination and a weakness for wounds and death, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Bucky

It was a bullet that hit me. In my lower left abdomen. Pain erupted through my body. I hadn't actually been hit in a while, so it was a bit of a shock. I couldn't stop the cry that sprang from my mouth. I looked down to see the blood pouring out of me, and my vision turned red with rage.

Forget the Soldier. I became an animal. 

I leapt at the man who had wounded me. As we hit the ground, I grabbed his head and smashed it into the cement beneath him. He was still conscious, still alive, so I smashed his head again. This time, his skull caved and he was dead.

There was only one man left standing, one unconscious, and one with a bullet in his shoulder, who couldn't really do much damage. I figured I had nearly one, and rushed at my last opponent. 

Grabbing his arm, I slammed my knee into his elbow, braking his arm in two places. My right arm was still weak from when Steve broke it on the heli-carrier, trying to get the chip from me. I couldn't get any medical attention, so I had to set the arm on my own, without a cast to hold it in place until it healed. But that weakness didn't stop me from wrapping my right hand around his throat, lifting the last man in the air and shoving him against the wall.

I probably could have used my metal arm to do that, but then I would have had to use my right arm to punch his lights out. That would have taken longer and hurt more, so the metal would have to do.

As he collapsed to the ground, I reached for my duffle, thinking the fight was over. It wasn't.

I had almost forgotten about the guards at each end of the alley. They had been watching the fight with horrified fascination as I took on 6 highly trained men at once. When I realized I would have to deal with them too, I quickly unzipped my duffle, pulling out my machine gun. While I was doing this the two guards advanced on me. You'd think they would have learned from the first 6's mistakes.

Unfortunately, I didn't have all the facts behind their advancement.

As about 20 other Hydra soldiers rounded the corner, 10 on each end, I realized that the first 6 had just been a distraction, to keep me busy until the main force got here. I also realized that I was wounded by a bullet in my gut, a weakened arm, barely any sleep, and low ammo. And now I had 22 men to fight.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the fight ahead. I had faced such numbers before, but that was when I was in my peak condition. The last year had been hard. I had barely eaten, rarely slept, always wandering from place to place, with hardly any time to keep up my training. My muscles had shrunken from being unused, my stamina was low, and now I was definitely starting to suffer from my large amount of blood loss, making all my problems that much worse. I had spent the last year fighting all of my Soldier instincts, meaning now they weren't as sharp. I was out of practice, out of shape, and out of my mind if I thought I had a good chance of winning this fight.

As all 22 men raised their guns and prepared to fire. My brain scrambled to come up with a good plan, but I couldn't think of a single scenario in which I won. I had just about decided I was just going to have to take as many of them out as I could before I died, when something flashed into the alley, hitting 4 of the 22 men before bouncing back to where it came from, like the ultimate, circular boomerang. I'd know that shield anywhere.

Steve

As I was running, I heard gunshots coming from a couple streets away. I picked up my pace, forcing myself to run faster than I had since Loki attacked.

When the alley came in sight, I saw a group of about 10 Hydra men entering an alley. Once I reached it, I peeked around the corner to see a wounded Bucky surrounded by around 20 enemies, 6 already fallen men on the ground around him. I realized how close I had cut it. Bucky was definitely in no shape to be fighting at this point, especially against so many. If I had been just a few seconds later, I wouldn't have gotten there in time.

The Hydra soldiers raised their guns, pointed at Bucky. I saw anxiety flash in his eyes, before it was replaced with cool determination. Obviously he planned to go down fighting, but he wouldn't go down at all if I could help it.

Just as the men were about to fire, I threw my shield. It bounced off of 4 men, knocking them down, before it returned to me. Smiling slightly at the look of pure shock on Bucky's face, I charged into battle.

I fought my way through the crowd, making my way toward Bucky. In spite of his wound, and the barely perceptible favoritism of his right arm, he seemed to be holding his own pretty well. I finally got to him, and we started fighting back to back, like the good old days. The two of us against Hydra, just as it should be.

As the fight continued, Bucky and I fell into a kind of pattern. I would throw my shield, and while it bounced off of members of the enemy, I would use hand-to-hand combat to take out a few more before catching my shield, using it to bash someone's head in.

Behind me, Bucky used his machine gun to take out a bunch of guys, but eventually he ran out of ammo and had to resort to his smaller guns and hand-to-hand combat. We were doing pretty well.

We were down to the last 5, 2 fighting me, 3 sticking to their original mission, Bucky. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the three fighting Bucky raise his gun to shoot Bucky in the back while he was engaged with another enemy. I yelled Bucky's name, but he couldn't just abandon the guy he was fighting. He didn't turn around fast enough, I knew he wouldn't. I did the only thing I could think to do. I moved my shield so that it was covering Bucky, taking the shot for him, but leaving me vulnerable. Just as Bucky turned around, realizing what had happened, I felt an explosion of pain in my arm, making me drop my shield. I turned to face my opponents once again, but half my mind was still focused on protecting Bucky and I didn't react fast enough.

One of my opponents shot me in the chest, about where my right lung should be. As the pain overwhelmed my senses, the other punched me hard across the face. The first one kicked me in the chest, right over my fresh wound, causing the bullet to wriggle farther into my flesh. 

A fresh sense of agony came over me, my mind void of everything but the pain. I had been shot before, but this was worse than a bullet to the gut. Much worse. As one of the guys went to punch me again, I raised my good arm in a feeble attempt to block it. I failed miserable. 

The hit through me back against one of the alley's walls. I tried to get back to my feet, but one of my opponents shot my leg, making it near impossible to stand.

Just at that moment, Bucky finished off the last of the 3 guys that were attacking him, and he turned to see my predicament. He yelled, "No!" and ran at the remaining two.

In Bucky's rage, it only took him a few seconds to dispatch my attackers. He immediately came to me, lowering himself to his knees. "Steve! Steve, stay with me. You've got to fight it. Just hold out long enough for me to get you to a hospital, okay?" When I didn't respond right away, he started panicking. "Steve! Come on, man. You got this. If you can get beaten within an inch of your life, fall into the Potomac from a heli-carrier, and live to tell the tale, you can take this. Come on, Steve."

It was getting hard for me to breath, so I just nodded. My sub-conscious probably realized that my right lung had most likely collapsed, but I was too busy with pain and Bucky to notice. Then I remembered that Bucky had said he would take me to a hospital. My brain was working just enough for me to realize that wouldn't be a very good idea.

"Bucky," I forced out. His head snapped up from looking at my wounds, his eyes staring into mine. "Don't take me to a hospital." He started to argue, but I interrupted his interruption. "Just listen, Bucky. You can't take me to a hospital. Get a car, and drive me to Stark Tower in New York. On the 76th floor, a woman named Clarrissa will be there. Get her to take care of me. Okay?" 

Bucky looked so confused, not to mention terrified at the idea of going to New York. To Stark Tower of all places. But he nodded his head, pushing away his confusion and fear for my sake. Bucky really was in there. The moment when he saved me from drowning in the Potomac wasn't just a fluke. He really was back, at least to some extent. I smiled as much as I could through the pain. "Thank you, Buck..." Then all I saw was blackness.


	5. Stark Tower Has an Infirmary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Clarrissa plays house.
> 
> Dr. House MD, to be precise.

Bucky

Steve was hurt, again. And it was all my fault, again.

He was hurt because he had used his shield to save my life when I wasn't looking. He focused on me instead of himself, and now he's lying in the back seat of a stolen car, bleeding out his life, because of it.

I didn't know why he wanted me to take him to Stark Tower. My brain wasn't functioning enough to figure out the possible reasons. All I could think about was Steve dying in the back of this car. The seat was covered in his blood. I had torn up parts of my shirt, wrapping them around his wounds in an attempt to slow his loss of blood, but it hadn't really done much good.

The crimson stains on the gray-carpet seats made my stomach do flips. After Steve had passed out, I had to move a couple feet away from him as I retched. I mostly dry heaved though, because I hadn't eaten or had anything to drink in a while.

I was the Winter Soldier, and before that I was a soldier in WWII. I couldn't remember ever having had such a violent reaction to blood. I was hardened to it. I had killed men, women, and children, but the sight of blood hadn't made any real effect. Maybe guilt for spilling the blood, but not the blood itself.

I guess it was just the fact that it was Steve's blood. He shouldn't be like this. He was so young (only about 95) and full of life. He shouldn't be in so much pain. But his blood was on my hands, again. Maybe it was the guilt mixed with the sight of the blood of my oldest friend that got to me.

He shouldn't be hurting for me. Not after everything I've done, to him and to others. In the name of Hydra, no less! He should hate me. But he saved me. He fought with me and for me. And even after he was so wounded, so hurt, he smiled at me before he passed out. 

Why doesn't he hate me? How could he still care about a monster like me, a monster who doesn't even know who he is? I don't understand it. I wonder if I ever will.

My own injury was completely forgotten as one thought surged through my brain on repeat, like a broken record: 

Steve Rogers is hurt because of me.

Clarrissa

It had been hours since I had heard from Steve. I was starting to worry. Was he still wandering about Boston, looking for Sasha Zachiek (Bucky), hoping against hope that he could be found?

I kept myself busy by updating Friday's search for Dr. Banner. I knew it was only a matter of time before Tony asked for a status update. I really didn't want to disappoint him. Despite the differences between the Green Giant and the Man of Metal, they were good friends. I knew Tony worried. Everyone did. 

Even Clint had sent me a text, asking about how far my search had gotten. I was too embarrassed to tell him I had been focused more on finding Bucky than Bruce, so I just told him that I was doing the best Friday and I could do. Not exactly true, but since a search for Bruce similar to the one I had going for Bucky was always running in the background, it was close enough to count. The only pictures Friday had found as of yet were of some actor named Mark Ruffalo, who looked a lot like Bruce, but still wasn't him.

Time passed quickly, as it always did when I was absorbed in a task, so when my stomach started yelling at me for food, I finally realized how late it was. About 3 p.m. Steve had arrived in Boston around 6 a.m., had called me about Sasha being Bucky at around 6:30, and I hadn't heard from him since. That meant it had been about 8 ½ hours since I had heard from him last. I got out my phone to call him when Friday suddenly interrupted.

"Clarrissa, there are two people in the elevator. Both are injured and heading to level 76, the location of the infirmary."

My eyes widened. We didn't have any patients in the infirmary. It was a new addition and none of the Avengers had needed it yet. People outside of the Avengers, and some SHIELD agents, didn't even know it existed. "Friday can you get a confirmed ID on either of the two people?"

"My database says that one man is the Captain Rogers, and the other is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Both are injured, Captain Rogers more seriously than Sergeant Barnes."

Knowing that the elevator was already taken, I rushed to the stairs. I went down one flight, and started setting up two rooms, one for Steve and one for Bucky. "Friday, from now on, address Captain Rogers as Steve and Sergeant Barnes as Bucky. Their formal names are way too long. Understood?"

"Yes, Clarrissa. But if Mr. Stark reprograms me to call them by their formal titles, it was not my fault."

Something about a computer telling me it wasn't her fault struck me as very humorous, in spite of the serious situation. Steve was hurt. And so was Bucky. Did they get into a fight? If so, was it with someone else, or each other? How badly were they hurt? Would I have the medical skills to help them? Why would they have come here instead of a hospital? The questions flooded my head, making it hard for my brain to try and come up with any answers.

Just at that moment, the elevator doors opened, revealing Bucky, covered in blood (whether his or Steve's, I couldn't tell), carrying Steve bridal style. Bucky's eyes quickly took me in, and his hands tightened around Steve's body. "Who are you?" he asked in a gruff, husky voice.

"My name is Agent Clarrissa Barton. I'm a friend of Steve's." I hoped I got the introduction right. I would hate for Bucky not to trust me and try to leave.

He observed me again, this time nodding with slight approval. "He mentioned you before he passed out. He said you could be trusted. He said you could help him."

I nodded my head in return. "I have training in field medicine. I should be able to help." I looked him over, noticing a gunshot wound in his lower abdomen. "You're injured. Let me help you carry Steve to one of the beds." 

He hesitated for a second, but then he nodded his head. A look of relief flashed across his eyes before his face returned to its previous emotionless state. I rushed over as Bucky adjusted his hold on Steve so that I could take one arm while he retained the other.

Working together, we got him to one of the beds. Lying him down, I did a quick intake of all his injuries. Bullet wound to the chest, most likely a collapsed lung, bullet to his shield arm, bullet to his left leg, severe blood loss, broken nose, and probably a concussion. Possibly more injuries that couldn't be detected by the naked eye. My eyes closed for a second as my brain tried to wrap itself around the idea of Steve being hurt this badly. The last time he had been this bad was when Bucky himself was responsible. A small part of me wondered if he was responsible this time too.

I got out the proper medical supplies, putting them on a rolling table by the bed. I stuck an IV in his arm, pumping in some chemicals that were necessary for the surgical process of removing the bullet from Steve's chest and trying to fix his collapsed lung. I put an oxygen mask over his face to help him breathe. As I worked, I asked Bucky what happened.

He looked like he didn't want to answer. He looked guilty and ashamed. The small bit of doubt within me increased a bit. I waited for his answer, stripping off Steve's shirt and cleaning the blood off as I did.

"I was at a mall yesterday, when I realized through a series of events that Hydra had found me. When I got back to the hotel I was staying at, I got all my stuff together and left, hoping to shake them off my tail. They caught up to me when I was in an alley." He pause for a second before he continued.

"At first there were only 8 of them, two to guard the alley's exits and 6 to fight me. I was doing pretty well at first, but then I got shot. I finished off the original 6 and was about to deal with the last 2, when 20 more men showed up. My right arm didn't heal right from when Steve broke in on the heli-carrier, I had a bullet in my gut, and I was out of shape from malnutrition, lack of sleep, and a year without any training. I was pretty sure I was going to die, and I had decided to take out as many as possible before I did, when Steve showed up out of nowhere."

I looked up from my work and caught the hint of a tear in one of his eyes. A small, sad smile appeared on my face for a second before I went back to tending to Steve's wound in his arm.

Bucky continued his story. "We worked together to fight them. Most of them were trying to only fight me, because I was their mission, but Steve didn't really give them much choice. We were down to the last 5, 3 on me, 2 on him, when one of them tried to shoot me when my back was turned. Steve realized just in time, and he blocked the bullet with his shield. But that made him vulnerable. That's when he got shot in the arm. He dropped his shield, and was unprepared for the shot to his chest. The punched him a couple times and kicked him. Then one of them shot his leg. I tried to get to him, to help him, but I had to deal with the 3 attacking me first. By the time I got to him, he was already like this. I took out the last of them."

I nodded my head. I could tell he wasn't lying. The part of me that doubted him quickly disappeared. "Why did you bring him here instead of a hospital that was closer to, or even in, Boston?" 

"Before Steve passed out he told me not to take him to a hospital. He asked me to take him here and he said that a woman named Clarrissa would be able to help him. That's how I knew I could trust you. I don't know why he wanted to be brought here, but I figured he had a reason. Considering he had just save my life again, I decided to comply with his request."

I worked in silence for a minute. My hands knew what they were doing without the help of my brain, so I was able to think for a few moments. Then I found a pretty good idea for why Steve wanted to be brought here.

"It's a good thing you did. If you had brought him to the hospital, it would have been much easier for Hydra to find you again, especially since you're injured." His eyes lit up like a lightbulb had gone off inside his head. "Besides," I continued, "If the Winter Soldier brought Captain America to the hospital it might not have worked out so well for you. A lot of the world still isn't ready to trust you yet."

I glanced up at him, slightly worried about his reaction to the last part. He seemed to be lost in thought for a second. Then his eyebrows scrunched together and he looked at me. "Do you trust me?" He asked the question as if my trusting him was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard of. Maybe to him it was.

I paused in my work for a moment, my blood-covered pointer finger pushing in the point of my nose. I thought about his question, and the answer to it.

After a few seconds, I went back to work and responded to the injured man on the other side of Steve's bed. "Steve trusts you. Natasha Romanov has been shot twice by you, and she trusts you, mostly. You pulled him out of the Potomac, saving his life and betraying your mission. Hydra attacked you today, so you obviously aren't on their side anymore. And you brought Steve here, saving his life once again. Frankly, I don't see any reason not to trust you."

The look Bucky gave me was priceless: happiness, with a dash of hope, and a bit of disbelief. Then his face went back to being emotionless.

I worked for another couple of minutes before I remembered that Bucky was also injured. I looked up at him and saw the tell-tale signs of blood loss showing on his face and all over his body.

I tried to get him to come with me to another room so I could tend to him as well. He refused, saying that Steve's welfare was more important than his own. We argued for a few minutes before he finally agreed, as long as I finished with Steve's wounds before touching Bucky's. I led him over to one of the other beds, and he lied down. 

At first he tried to force himself to stay awake, but I told him to get some rest. He refused that at first too, but I convinced him when I reminded him that Steve trusted me and I promised I would wake him if anything important happened. About 2 seconds later, he fell asleep.


	6. Peace Sign Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In tribute to the A Team movie, because I freaking love Murdock (the original TV show is amazeballs too, just saying), I present to you...
> 
> Bucky gets stitches. And eats food.
> 
> Tada!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starring: Clarrissa, Winter Soldier, Lucky, DumE, Steve, Friday  
> Guess Starring: Bucky, Elvis, and some lady named Caroline

Clarrissa

It took me a couple hours to finally finish with Steve. I dealt with the gunshot wounds in his arm and leg, along with his broken nose, waiting for the IV to drain the bag into Steve's body. Once that was done, I prepared him for surgery. 

In most hospitals during surgery, the surgeon has several others there to help him get it all done. That wasn't going to be the case this time though. Luckily, wasn't the first surgery I had done single handedly, however it was my first time to repair a collapsed lung. 

The surgery went pretty smoothly. Friday monitored Steve's vitals for me, so that was one less thing I had to do myself. Tony's robots, Lucky and Dum-E, came up from the workshop to help with handing me things and whatnot. The surgery took longer than it would have if I had had human help, but it still went perfectly fine. As soon as that was done, I put more meds in the IV to help with the concussion and recovery and made my way over to Bucky.

I could have tried to tend to his wound while he was asleep, but I doubted that would go over well. I decided that the best course of action would be to wake him up, but I was a little worried about how he would react once I did.

I remembered reading that it is best to wake up gradually, so I got out my phone and picked a song that wasn't too crazy (hard to do since I preferred heavy metal, classic rock, and just about anything Elvis). I then adjusted the volume so that it would slowly increase over time, slipping into Bucky's conscious and waking him gently.

It didn't work. At all.

The second the music started, on its lowest volume setting, he jolted awake, sitting up in bed lightning fast and taking in the room. He looked like he was ready to pounce at me, but then his brain remembered the bullet in his gut. He groaned in pain, slowly lowering himself back down on the bed once he recognized me.

"Sorry," I said. "I had tried to wake you up gently, but I guess it didn't work." He grunted in agreement, and I had to hide a smirk. He was probably trained to wake up the moment he heard something out of place. I had received that same training when I was preparing to be a field agent. Luckily, I was a naturally heavy sleeper, so it was easy to return to normal when I left the field.

He gave me a look that said, "Ya think?" and stared at the ceiling. "Why'd you wake me up?" It wasn't an accusatory question. He just wanted to know.

"I was going to tend to the wound in your abdomen, but I figured you wouldn't take kindly to waking up to someone digging around in your gut to get out a bullet. I thought you would want to be awake when I started." Considering his reaction to waking up to Sweet Caroline, a relatively calm Elvis song (at least it wasn't Hound Dog), I was pretty sure I was right.

He nodded his head in confirmation. He sighed, like getting his wound mended was something sad but inevitable. "Let's get on with it then."

I smirked and got my medical tools.

When I returned, I helped him remove his shirt so I could tend to the injury without it getting in the way. When I got my first glimpse at his metal arm, he looked at me worriedly, like he was afraid I was going to run out of the room, screaming my head off from terror, or tell him he was revolting and refuse to help him. When he saw my calm expression, he seemed to relax a little.

That's when I realized that he had sighed that way because he didn't think I would react well to seeing his arm. My heart ached with compassion. He must be so self-conscious about it now. As the Winter Soldier, it was good for building an image and reputation that struck terror in the hearts of his enemies and allies alike. As Bucky Barnes, he probably thought it embarrassing, ugly, and revolting. I so badly wanted to tell him that his arm was nothing to be ashamed of, but I figured he wouldn't react well. Besides, I had a wound to tend to.

Once his shirt was off, I had him lie down on the table. I used a warm, wet cloth to clean the blood off his body. Quickly, I injected an anesthetic, though I knew it wouldn't numb all the pain, but it would help. Once I had waited long enough for it to take effect, I then got a pair of tweezers and dug around for the bullet. Most people at least gasp or have a look of pain on their face. Bucky didn't even flinch. I guess that was his training showing again.

Next, I got a sterilized needle and some thread, then I gave him stitches. As a joke I asked him if he wanted his stitches in a pattern, like a lightning bolt or a heart. When he looked at me, his face was dead serious. "Can I have a peace sign?"

At first I thought he actually wanted a peace sign stitched into his lower abdomen, and my eyebrows shot up. But then he smirked at my reaction, and I realized he had gone along with my joke.

If only Steve were awake...

I smirked back and said, "Sorry, I'm not very good at those, but I can try a butterfly, if you would like that better than a heart or a flower. I'm really good at daffodils." 

"Butterfly, it is then."

I seriously considered actually doing it, but I didn't want to push my luck.

Once I had given Bucky his plain, boring, normal stitches, he looked at them with a nod of approval. I asked if he wanted to change into clothes that weren't dirty and covered in blood, and he said that it would be great. I offered to get some of Steve's clothes for him, but he said he had clothes in a duffle in the trunk of the car.

"What car?"

"The one I stole in order to get Steve here."

"Barrowed," I said.

"What?"

I smirked at him. "The car you barrowed in order to get Steve here. I'll have it washed and returned to its owner within the week." When he raised his left eyebrow at me, I continued, "Steve, would never let us keep it. He's a bit of a stickler for rules. I guess Captain America doesn't like to break the law." His eyebrow came back down and a smirk appeared on his lips. He seemed to smirk a lot.

He was about to go down to get his duffle, but I told him I would do it. At first he argued, but I told him that he needed his rest, that he couldn't afford to reopen his wound, and that I hadn't left Stark Tower in about a week. He argued with the first two, but when he heard my third reason, he agreed. I wondered why, but I was so happy that I had won, I didn't want to change his mind by asking about it.

I hurried down to the car, and when I saw all the blood in the back seat, along with the slightly less amount in the driver's seat, my heart stopped for a second. Bucky had just been in a fight with more than 20 Hydra soldiers, got gut-shot, nearly died, and watched Steve get hurt so badly, yet he still managed to drive from Boston, Massachusetts to New York to get Steve medical attention from who he wanted. I felt a mixture of being impressed, sympathetic, and pitying toward that Soldier.

I got the duffle from the trunk and hurried back to the Infirmary as quickly as I could.

When I got there, I showed Bucky the bathroom and he changed into some fresh clothes. I realized he must have been very hungry, and I was too, so I, with Bucky at my side, went to the kitchen a couple floors up to make some dinner for the two of us.

I decided on spaghetti, because it was quick and simple. I had a hunch, so I made 2 portions worth of pasta for Bucky and one for myself. Sure enough, he wolfed it down quicker than lightning, and looked like he could eat another bowl of the same size. I didn't finish mine so I let him have the rest.

I showed him the fridge, telling him he could help himself to whatever was there if he was still hungry. Then I showed him a room where he could sleep. After making him promise that he wouldn't run off and disappear again (something that seemed to annoy him, but I did it for Steve's sake), I left him to get some rest while I went to check on Steve again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Favorite color?


	7. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a thing about Bucky. Read it.

Bucky

She had made me promise I wouldn't leave. As if I would leave Steve like that. I had acted annoyed, but, in reality, it had just hurt. She actually thought I would just leave him in that condition. I mean, I'd left him before. I'd hurt him before. But that was a year ago. I'd changed. A little.

She left after I promised. When she did, I recognized another emotion. It was surprised. I was surprised that she wanted me to stay. After everything Steve had suffered at my hands, after all the trouble I'd caused her when she was helping Steve find me, after everything I'd done, all the wrongs I'd committed for Hydra, she still wanted me to stick around.

I didn't understand that. I could see why Steve wanted me here. He knew me before I became the Winter Soldier. Knowing him, he probably had high hopes, very high hopes, that Bucky was still within me, waiting to resurface. He thought his best and oldest friend was just about to show up. And maybe he was right. But maybe he wasn't.

It didn't make any sense for Clarrissa Barton to want me to stay. She hadn't known me before Hydra. She hadn't met me until I walked into the Infirmary with a severely injured Steve in my arms. She'd seen my arm, seen the monster I was. She knew I hadn't been able to save Steve in that alley. But she wanted me to stay. 

And that brought about another emotion within me, an emotion I hadn't experienced since before I became the Winter Soldier. 

Happiness. 

I was happy that Clarrissa Barton wanted me to stay.

I stood up. I had known from the moment I sat on the bed that I would never be able to sleep on it. The bed in the infirmary had been fine. Hospital beds are always hard. But this one... It was so soft... There was no way.

I smoothed out the comforter where I had sat on it and lied down on the floor by the bed. I was used to hard and cold with no comfort, so, since it wasn't cold at all the and the plush carpet beneath me was nearly too much, I didn't bother with any pillows or blankets. That way the bed wouldn't have to be remade.

Being the Winter Soldier had kind of made me a neat freak. That, and I sort of might remember Steve pestering my to clean up my stuff when he noticed my place being particularly messy (which was nearly always... I think). Being a U.S. soldier during WWII helped in that area, too.

Once I lied down, it took me a couple minutes to fall asleep. Then I had another dream.

Clarrissa

I had almost fallen asleep in a chair next to Steve's Infirmary bed when I heard a scream.

I nearly had a heart attack. The scream was so full of terror, of pain, of hopelessness. It took my brain a few seconds to start thinking again.

When it did I realized that the scream had come from Bucky. I began to panic. If something was terrible enough to make the Winter Soldier scream bloody murder, it had to be panic-worthy.

I checked to make sure I had my baton on me, then I rushed to the stairs. As I made my way to his room, I mentally prepared myself for whatever I was rushing towards. I might have to use my secret.

What was it that had made Bucky scream? Stark's lab was several floors down. Was he okay? Or was the enemy only after Bucky? Had Hydra found him again?

I got to the door. It was closed. Whoever was attacking either hadn't come through that way, or had actually shut the door behind him for some reason.

I slammed the door open. In the first second, I took in my surroundings. The bed obviously hadn't been slept in. Had the enemy arrived shortly after I had left, without my knowing about it until Bucky screamed?

I used my secret to probe the room. I could only sense one person in the room. But was it Bucky?

I took a step into the room. Before I could call out to Bucky, someone grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall. I looked up to my attacker's face.

It was Bucky. There was murder in his eyes, sweat making glistening, swift rivers down his face, and tension shaking his entire body. 

"Bucky, it's me. It's Clarrissa. Do you remember me? I almost gave you butterfly stitches, remember?" 

At my words, the rage in his eyes disappeared, and his body visibly relaxed as he slowly stopped shaking. The vise that was his grip loosened a little on my shoulders, but his hands didn't leave. He held my shoulders more like a lifeline than in a threatening manner.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm a bit on edge." He looked almost ashamed of himself, like he thought he had done something wrong and expected a severe reprimand. He almost made me think of Dobby the house elf. Punishing himself because expects someone else to do it anyway.

"It's alright, Bucky. What happened?" He looked at me in confusion. I probed deeper. "I heard you scream. And the bed hasn't been slept in. You were exhausted after dinner. Why aren't you sleeping?"

He looked surprised when I said he had screamed. He didn't seem to want to answer. His eyes looked up at the ceiling as he searched his mind for an excuse. 

"Bucky, please tell me. I want to help you, but I can't if you don't trust me."

He looked me in the eye, debating whether or not to confide in me. Then his hands released my shoulders and he backed up. He stared at the ground. "Why do you even care?" He asked the question like someone caring about him was the most preposterous thing he had ever heard of. Considering his past, it might be, in his mind.

I thought about the question. I had to come up with the right answer. I didn't want to drive him away, but I knew I had to be honest, too. He wouldn't respond to a lie. But how could I tell him an honest reason for caring when I didn't know why I cared.

I knew I did actually care. Maybe it was because he was so important to Steve. Maybe it was because if everything I'd read in his file. He had the most tragic story I'd ever heard, and I had a pretty tragic one of my own. Maybe it was because of what he had looked like in the security footage from that mall, broken, hopeless, and alone. Or maybe it was because of how much he obviously cared about Steve, putting Cap's life and health before his own. He wouldn't let me tend to his wounds until I was done with Steve's. His reason: Steve's life was more important than his own.

Or maybe, after watching him beat himself up over every little thing, blaming himself for things that weren't even his fault, weren't anybody's fault, I could see how lowly he thought himself to be. And he didn't even realize how much he mattered. To Steve, to Natasha, to the world. The world might not have accepted him on a whole yet as he is now, but all you have to do is visit the Smithsonian or look online to see how incredibly important he is to America.

"I care because I have to." His head snapped up and his eyes stared into mine. His facial expression silently asked me to elaborate. "I have to care, for Steve's sake, and for yours. Steve is unconscious. He needs someone to look after you, to care about you in his absence. And even if he didn't, you need someone to care about you. All people need someone to care about them, and right now, that's me." 

Bucky's eyes wouldn't leave mine as he tried to decide whether I was lying or not. And whether that was a good enough answer for him to open up. He gave a slight nod, and then he spoke. "I barely remember anything. When I worked for Hydra they wiped my mind, stripping it of my memories. As far as I can recall, I had my memories wiped nearly 100 times, maybe more. On the helicarrier, Steve was able to remind me that I wasn't always the Winter Soldier. He reminded me that I had lived a life before Hydra, and that Steve had been a part of it, a big part. But I still didn't remember everything. I didn't even remember most things. I remembered just enough to know that Steve wasn't my enemy, and that Hydra was."

"Ever since then, my memories have been coming back in little pieces, a flashback here, a dream there. I seem to remember more recent things first, but every now and then I recall something from my childhood or from serving in the army, or something about Steve. But most of it is about my time as the Winter Soldier. Some of it is terrifying, especially about some of the things they did to me. And some of it is horrifying, especially about some of the things I did to others. I was having one of the dreams about them punishing me for speaking out. I guess I hadn't just screamed in my dream. I'm sorry for disturbing you."

My heart nearly broke for this Soldier before me. His life was more tragic than I had known from just reading his file. This broken man is so lost and afraid and ashamed. And he apologized for "disturbing" me.

I wanted to comfort him, to reach out for him, to tell him it wasn't his fault and that it would be okay. But just as I was about to, his face hardened up again, returning to his emotionless state, the face of a soldier. So I had to play it safe.

"Bucky, you don't have to apologize. Steve's still out, and Tony didn't hear you. If he had, he would have come barging in here in his metal suit. As for me, I'm glad I heard you. I'm glad you told me. You aren't the only one to have ever had nightmares. I hope you'll let me know if you ever need or want to talk or something." His face scrunched up a little when I said the last part. 

"Or even if you don't need to talk but you want someone around to remind you that you aren't alone. " I could tell from his face that he didn't quite agree with that. " You aren't alone, Bucky. You've got Steve. You've got me. And when Sam and Natasha get back from their missions, you'll have them, too."

"Who are Sam and Natasha? I can't quite remember them."

"Sam Wilson is the guy with the wings and jetpack that helped Steve take down the helicarriers last year. He's been helping Steve find you ever since, checking out leads when Cap had Avengers stuff to do. They call him Falcon." Bucky nodded, realization flashing across his face.

"And Natasha Romanoff was the red-head super agent who was fighting with Steve and Sam. She goes by the Black Widow. She's not officially part of Steve's personal search party, but she's always checking in and helping out when she can. I can tell she really wants to help you. That or she really wants Steve to be happy." There was a look on Bucky's face I didn't even want to try to interpret. It was like a mixture of recognition, confusion, and fear, like he was remembering something, but he didn't know what, and it scared him. Gosh, he's so complicated.

"Right..." he trailed off, getting lost in his own thoughts. 

We stood there in silence for about a minute before it got too awkward and I changed the subject. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep again tonight? After the flashback, I mean. Do you even want to sleep again?"

He shook his head. "I hate sleeping, but I have to try. The memories are worth it. I have to get myself back, whatever the cost. I just wish I would stop forgetting what I remember."

His eyes widened as he realized his mistake, revealing more than he had wanted to. "What do you mean? You forget things, even after the flashbacks and dreams?"

He nodded and shrugged. "Not all of it, but yeah. I read in some book I found that it's most likely because of all the damage my hippocampus, the part of the brain responsible for memory, sustained from the memory wipes. It was forced to forget things, so it has to relearn how to hold on to memories. But it doesn't have a very good grip yet, so sometimes they just slip away..."

Oh my goodness. This poor man. How terrible it must be. He had a good life, and was forced to forget it and trade it for something awful. He suffered, and then he was forced to forget that, too. Now he's tried to return to his good life, but he's being hunted, and not just by Hydra. He's trying to remember what they forced him to lose, and it hurts him, terrifies him. And he still forgets some of what he remembers! Now he's hurt, his best and oldest friend is hurt, again, stuck with a stranger for company, who he just confessed one of biggest struggles to (which he's probably embarrassed about). Could his life get any worse? 

If I only had a way to help him stop forgetting...

I got an idea. I told Bucky to stay put, then I ran from the room.

Bucky

She ran away. I told her about my flashbacks, and she ran. As I had told her, I'd watched as Clarissa's face changed from a look of concern to one of pity. That's why I had specifically left out the part about me forgetting the things I remembered. I didn't tell her, I purposely hid it from her, because I didn't need her pity. I didn't want it.

I was so glad that she was reacting pretty calmly to hearing about all my drama, that I had started to relax a little. And with a short memory of Natasha (or Natalia, as I had known her) flooding back into my mind, my guard had completely fallen. And I handed over exactly what I had tried to hold back from her. My biggest struggle.

And then she ran.

Was she overwhelmed to the point that she couldn't be in the same room? Was her pity so strong that she couldn't handle my presence? Was she disgusted by my weakness and failure? Or afraid of me because of my lack of memories of life before Hydra?

I sat back on the bed, ashamed of my struggle, my weakness, my failure. I grabbed one of the pillows and punched it with my fake arm as hard as I could, trying to relieve my anger. The divots in my metal fist ripped the pillow, and the force behind the swing carried all the way through the soft, feather filled luxury.

Great. Not only had I intruded on hospitality from Stark's infirmary and a room in his tower (and he didn't even know I was here), scared away Clarrissa with my ridiculous confession, caused Steve to get seriously hurt, again, but I had also ruined a perfectly good pillow. Not to even mention all the stuff I did for Hydra. 

Just as I was beating myself up over my mistakes, Clarrissa came back in, a notebook and a pen in her hand. I was so surprised that she had come back, I actually felt my jaw drop a little. I'm pretty sure my eyes were wider than the side of a barn.

"Hey, sorry I just sort of left, but I-" she stopped when she saw my face. "What?"

I fumbled out for a reasonable excuse, but when I failed to find one, I figured, for once, honesty might be the best policy. "I didn't expect you to come back."

She gave me an incredulous look. "I told you to stay put. Why would I tell you that if I wasn't going to come back?"

I was flustered, and I floundered around for a moment before I finally managed a weak retort. "How should I know? I'm not an expert on the female mind." 

She smirked, stealing my signature move, not for the first time since I'd met her. "Really? Because Steve described you as the playboy type." I gave her a look that told her to tread carefully, and she let out a small chuckle. "Well, if not, you certainly fooled Steve..."

I sighed, trying to keep myself under control. Nobody ever jokes with the Winter Soldier, so it had been awhile before somebody poked fun at me without aggressive, dangerous intent.

She seemed to realize that she was pushing her luck, so she changed the topic. "Where was I? Oh, yeah, I was explaining why I left." She smiled shyly, like she was afraid I wouldn't like her explanation but she really wanted me to.

"When you said that you were forgetting your memories, I was trying to think of something that might help. Them I got an idea." She nervously held out the notebook and pen, and I took it gently. 

"I was thinking, what if you wrote down the things you remembered as you remembered them, like right after a flashback or when you wake up from another dream? Writing things down is supposed to help in remembering them. And that way, even if you do forget, you can read what you wrote to remind you."

I looked at the book in my hands, opening it to the first page. I glanced up at her before continuing my inspection. "So, basically, you think I should keep a diary?"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "If the term 'diary' is too girly for you, you could call it a journal, or an event log, or your memory tracker, or something. You and I will still know its a journal, but no one else has to. Don't worry, I won't tell. It'll be our little secret."

I smirked, hiding how grateful I was. Maybe it would actually work. Maybe I would actually be able to remember everything about my life. Maybe I could finally be Bucky again.

She was looking at me with a hopeful expression on her face, a tinge of worry in her eyes. She was afraid I would reject the gift, shooting down her brilliant idea. I let my expression show just a little of the gratitude I was feeling towards her. "Thank you, Clarrissa. This is very thoughtful of you." 

Her smile brightened, but I saw disappointment in her eyes, though it was very skillfully concealed. Anybody else would have missed it. But why would she be disappointed? 

I had said thank you. I had even shown gratitude through my Soldier's mask. What could I had done wrong?

If only I had Bucky's mind. If Steve was right, he would have known what had disappointed her. He would have understood. But the Winter Soldier? He was completely clueless.

I searched through my actions, trying to find where I screwed up. I had said thank you. Surely that couldn't have been wrong. And giving her a grateful expression could hardly have been a mistake either, right?

Clarrissa had been nothing but nice to me this whole time. She had been kind, and surprisingly understanding. I didn't want to return the favor by doing something wrong. How could I fix this?

What else had I done? I had told her it was thoughtful. Could something in that statement have been wrong? Think, Bucky! You should know this!

"Well," she said, her smile barely a shadow of the one she had previously worn. "I should probably leave you to write. Or sleep. Or whatever you actually want to do." She turned to leave. Desperate to make her feel better, to see the skillfully hidden disappointment disappear from her eyes, I grabbed her upper arm. I was gentle, as gentle as I knew how to be. I even grabbed her with my flesh-and-blood arm, to make sure my metal appendage wouldn't be too strong.

I turned her around to face me. "I mean it, Clarrissa." Her eyes widened, and her eyebrows raised ever so slightly. Her sickly sweet smile slowly returned as I continued. "It was thoughtful. And clever. I can't believe I didn't think of it myself. I really am grateful. It just might work." The disappointed look in her eyes vanished completely. I had managed to fix whatever it is I had unwittingly done wrong. I smiled. It was a small one (I couldn't let a big one through my facade), but it was genuine, and she knew it. Her grin grew even larger. "Thank you, Clarrissa."

She blushed slightly, almost imperceptibly. I was glad I had managed to catch it. "I'm glad I could help." I let go of her arm and she turned, walking to the door. She placed a hand on the knob, but before she turned it, she looked over her shoulder at me. Her eyes locked on to mine and she said, "Goodnight, Bucky." I gave a curt nod. Then she left my room.

I sat on the bed, barely managing to stand the cloud-like softness. Opening the notebook to the first page, I popped the cap off the pen and began to write. I started with my earliest memory. The first time I met Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Don't like it? Think I'm an idiot who can't write? Come on people, I need answers!
> 
> Ilysm!
> 
> (I love you so much, for those of you who are illiterate with those kinds of things)


	8. Play Date with Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you think will happen when Tony finds out about his guests?

Clarrissa

The next day, I was in the kitchen making breakfast, and Bucky was sitting at the counter, watching me. Steve was still unconscious, but his vitals were still strong, and his breathing seemed to be coming a little easier. Bucky was still incredibly worried, but after about 5 minutes of convincing him that there was nothing more either of us could do for him, I finally managed to get him to the kitchen for our morning meal.

Just as I was frying eggs and bacon, with cinnamon toast in the oven, Friday informed me there was someone in the elevator and it was coming to this floor. I asked who it was, slightly panicking at the idea of someone seeing Bucky. Friday said it was Tony.

Tony Stark was coming to the kitchen, and would see Bucky any second now. While I was trying to decide what to do, Bucky was giving me his signature smirk, his eyebrows raised a little in an unspoken question. 'So what do we do now?'

I had no idea.

Then the elevator doors opened. Tony stepped out and walked to the kitchen. Bucky and I were statues, not even daring to blink as we waited for Tony's reaction. But it didn't come.

He stalked over to the fridge, and grabbed the milk. He walked right past me, not saying a word. As I watched his sluggish movements, I realized that he was barely awake. Of course he didn't notice us. He was a zombie.

Tony grabbed the milk jug and set it on the counter. Taking a glass from a cabinet, he poured himself a cup. Slowly he chugged the milk, a few drops slipping down his chin and dropping to his shirt, sinking in just over the blue glow in the center of his chest.

As he drained the glass. He seemed to wake up a bit. Setting down the empty cup, he finally looked up at me. 

"Clarrissa... hey," he slurred, obviously exhausted. It was common for him to go days, or even weeks without sleeping, spending that time bottled up in his lab in the underground floors. Then, he would come up, eat or drink (occasionally both) and sleep for a couple hours before returning whence he came."How's the search for Brucy doin'?"

"As well as can be expected," I said slowly. I could tell by his drooping lids that he was still half asleep and hadn't managed to wake up enough to notice Bucky, who was currently looking at Tony with an amused grin. 

I figured it would be best for him to find about Steve's condition and Bucky's presence when he was like this. That way he would be slow enough and out of it enough to not try to kill Bucky. At first.

"Hey, Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"We, uh, have company."

His nearly closed eyes were forced a bit more open for a second or two. "Who?"

"Well... Steve is in the, um, infirmary... and Bucky is sitting at the counter right there." He didn't react at all. His eyes didn't open wider than the slits they were, his head didn't raise from resting on his chest, and his mouth didn't stop leaking drool. I was pretty sure he was out, sleeping while standing in the middle of the kitchen.

Then he reacted.

"He's what?!"

"Which one, Tony? Steve or Bucky? They're both he's." I turned to Bucky. "Right?"

He smirked. "No promises."

"I figured as much."

At this point, Tony had seen Bucky. His jaw was scraping on the wooden floor. "You... your... how? When?" He turned to me, a crazed look in his eyes. "YOU BETTER EXPLAIN THIS!"

Bucky smirked again. Actually, I'm not sure he had ever stopped.

"Where do you want me to start, Tony? You knew Steve has been looking for him since Project Insight failed. What, did you think Steve wouldn't manage? Or give up? That is nothing like Steve. Did you think I was incapable of finding him? If that's the case, I don't know why you asked me to help you find Banner." I had started to get defensive toward the end. I sort of snapped the last line. 

Tony's jaw snapped shut, anger turning his brown eyes into a dark black. "No." I could tell he was trying to keep himself from yelling at me. We usually get along quite well, and I knew he didn't want to hurt me. He was just angry. And I kind of knew why. "I didn't think Capsicle would give up, and I didn't think you were incapable of success. I just didn't think that you would let it loose in my tower when you found it."

It. Tony called Bucky an IT. Stark was going to send me over the edge if he didn't give him some respect soon. I sneaked a glance at Bucky to see how he had reacted to being made an object instead of a person. He caught me looking at him, and, guessing why I was, he shrugged. The look in his eyes, his body language, it all said one thing.

'I'm used to it.'

Bucky was used to being objectified. He was used to being dehumanized, made into less than a person. Just a machine, an asset, a killing machine designed to follow orders no matter what. And Tony couldn't care less. All he saw was what Hydra had forced him to pretend to be, what he probably thought he was.

A monster.

My heart snapped. Into two pieces. How could Tony be so blind? 

Then I remembered. I remembered the event that linked them. I wanted to clear the air, explain what happened, get Bucky to apologize for the Winter Soldier's forced actions, or give Tony Bucky's file so that he could just read it himself. But then I remembered the conversation at hand.

"Bucky is not an it, Stark. He is a person. He's a human being. I suggest you treat him as such, before I do something I regret. Besides, he's injured. I'm not going to put him in a cage. He's not an animal, Tony, and if you treat him like one, I swear to God, I'm going to throw a fit. If you've read my file, you'll know that my temper tantrums are a bit threatening, even to Iron Man. Especially to Iron Man." I managed to keep control of myself, managed to keep myself from glowing or involuntarily raising my hand in a threatening manner. Stark was on the verge of doing something stupid, and I wasn't going to purposely throw him over the edge just because I wanted to smash his skull with a baseball bat. 

"Are you threatening me, Barton? You really shouldn't do that. Not in my house," Stark's eyes had gone from cold and dark to burning black embers of fury.

"Or what?" I countered. "You going to kick me out? Good luck finding Bruce without me. I'm your best chance and you know it. Besides, it's not like you could hurt me. You know who I am. After all, you did call me 'Barton.' My brother's not the only one with killer hand-to-hand combat skills." My right hand was open, my fingers spread out, prepared to reach down to my boot to grab my staff. Bucky caught the motion and looked down to my shoe. He saw the handle of a short baton sticking out of my boot, and noticed the bulge of the rest of it showing through the leather canvas of my zip-ups.

"You're armed?" he asked, obviously surprised.

I nodded, not saying anything. My eyes were trained on Stark, who was now glaring at Bucky with a look that could probably kill a lesser man.

Tony looked back at me, some of the fury in his eyes replaced by a mixture of sadness, fear, desperation, and longing. "Do you know what he did? Don't you understand? You should, considering how you and your brother were orphaned."

I sighed, breaking eye contact and looking down at the table. "I do understand, Tony. Honest, I do."

"Then why are you helping him? Why are you defending him, as if he deserves it or something?"

I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Bucky. He didn't catch my glance this time though, because he was looking down at the table. His hair was falling in his face, so I didn't get a good look at him, but I could tell he wasn't exactly pleased with how the conversation was going.

"He does deserve it, Tony. I know what you see when you look at him. I get it, really. You see the Winter Soldier, the man who mercilessly killed your parents. The man who took out Howard Stark, who had once been his friend."

"Exactly! How can you say he deserves your help and defense when you know exactly what he's done?!" There was a tear welling in the corner of Tony's eye, preparing itself for the fall. My heart went out to him, as I knew how he was suffering, but I had to persist. I had to defend Bucky. He didn't deserve to be treated like a monster. He wasn't a monster.

So I changed the subject.

"Clint should be locked up. He should be executed for treason." I didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't do anything that would make me seem anything less than serious. Tony's eyes widened and his jaw dropped to the ground.

"What?! How can you say that about your own brother? He is a loyal agent and has done so much for this country! He helped take down Ultron. He is an Avenger, for Christ's sake! How can you say that?" Bucky had looked up from the counter at this point, interested by the conversation. I could see his eyebrows crinkled in confusion at what was being discussed.

"When Loki Laufeyson attacked earth, Clint joined him. He slaughtered over 100 S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and was a crucial part of Loki's near success in conquering our world." Again, I refused to let my voice or my body betray me as I condemned my brother. I knew what I was saying wasn't true. But so did Tony. So I had to keep going. I had to let him defend my brother, so that I could defend Bucky.

Shock was reflected in Stark's eyes, no longer blackened by anger. They had returned to their normal chocolate brown. "He was being brainwashed, Clarrissa! You know this. You were one of the people responsible for his rehabilitation after we stopped Loki. He fought on our side during the attack on New York once Romanoff snapped him out of Loki's mind control! What is wrong with you? You can defend the Winter freaking Soldier, but not your own brother?"

I stood strong, not letting Tony's words deter me from my mission. "Clint killed his own people. He killed friends of his. Good friends. Some of them were practically family to him. To both of us."

"He was being brainwashed, Clarrissa! What do you not understand about that? It wasn't his fault. He didn't understand what he was doing, didn't understand it was wrong. He only knew what Loki told him. He didn't know any different. It doesn't matter who he killed. It wasn't his fault!"

"Exactly," I said in a matter of fact tone, as calm as I could manage. Bucky had been watching the entire exchange. He didn't have a clue who or what we were talking about, but I could tell from his expression that he could see the parallels between himself and my brother.

Tony, however, was completely confused. "What?!"

"I said, exactly. Clint was brainwashed. He wasn't in his right mind. When he woke up, he regretted everything, even if he didn't remember it all. He killed a lot of people, people who were close to him, important to the both of us. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter who he killed, or how many agents died at his hands. It doesn't matter how much he helped Loki. He was being brainwashed."

Tony was still completely baffled. "If you know that, why did you just say he should be locked up or executed? And what does any of this have to do with that?" He pointed at Bucky as he said the last part, bringing my blood to a slow boil. 

"Bucky, as the Winter Soldier, was being brainwashed. They wiped his memory and fed him lie after lie. He didn't know any different, couldn't remember being told any different. Clint remembered who he was, remembered his entire life. But he still listened to Loki. Bucky didn't remember a thing! When Steve woke him up, he saved Steve's life. I understand that he killed your parents, Tony. I understand how you feel. You know I do. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that he killed your parents, because he didn't." 

"James Buchanan Barnes did not kill Howard and Maria Stark. The Winter Soldier, a brainwashed, tortured man, trained to be a killing machine who never asked questions, killed your parents. They might share the same body, but they are not the same person. Bucky is not him. It is not his fault your parents are dead. I'm sorry that you lost them, but when Steve brought Bucky back to life, the man who killed your parents died."

"Parts of the Winter Soldier might still be somewhere deep down inside of Bucky. The instincts. Some of the memories. But the Winter Soldier was defeated. By Steve. And by Bucky. You should be thanking Sergeant Barnes for the demise of the man who murdered your parents, not blaming him for it."

"I'm sorry if this is hard to hear, Stark. But if you can dismiss everything that Clint did for Loki freaking Laufeyson, then you should be able to forgive Bucky Barnes for being forced to do something and become something that wasn't him."

I finished my not-so-little rant and waited for Tony's reaction, and Bucky's. Tony stared at me for about a minute, then he looked back and forth between me and Bucky. After another whole minute of that, he closed his eyes. I saw the tears that had been welled up inside of him pour out, like silent, slow rivers.

I went around the counter and up to Tony. I wrapped my arms around him, comforting him as he cried. I knew he wouldn't be happy with himself for crying, especially in front of a woman, especially in front of Bucky Barnes. I knew he would want me to pretend I didn't see anything and look away until he had composed himself.

But I didn't care, because I also knew that wasn't what he really wanted. He only thought it was. What he really wanted, deep inside, was for someone to comfort him, to show him they were there, to show him that they cared. I knew that, because I had felt the same thing for so many years.

As I hugged him, he wrapped his arms around me, too. He clenched his fists around the fabric on my back as his tears stained my shoulder. I rubbed one of my hands up and down his back and whispered words of comfort in his ear. I wasn't really sure what I was saying. He probably didn't know either. All that registered was most likely a soft sound, like wind. No words were intelligible. But it let him know I was there. That was all that really mattered.

I looked over Tony's shoulder at Bucky. He was sitting on his stool, staring at me. I saw a mixture of emotions in his eyes. Gratitude. Surprise. Relief. Admiration. And, was that... awe? I saw his eyes glisten with unshed tears as he nodded at me, his lips mouthing two words. Thank you. I smiled at him, and turned my attention back to Tony.

After nearly 10 minutes of him crying on my shoulder, he finally straightened himself up. He released my shirt from his fists and used the heels of his hands to quickly wipe away his remaining tears. He closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths to compose himself. Then he opened his eyes, nodded at me with determination all over his face, and turned to Bucky. 

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, my father told me stories about you when I was growing up. He told me you were a hero. He told me you did great things, and that he was glad to have known you, for however brief a time it was." He paused before continuing.

"I thank you for your service, for everything you have done for this country. I... thank you... for everything you have done to aid Captain Steve Rogers. I have the... deepest respect for everything you have suffered at the hands of Hydra, and anyone else who may have caused you harm. I apologize for the way I treated you a few moments ago. I apologize for my blindness regarding you and all you have suffered and done for this country."

Then Tony walked around the counter to Bucky. When he reached him, Bucky stood up to face him. "I'm not in the military. But I feel like this is the most appropriate thing I can do at the moment." Tony raised his hand to his brow, forming a salute for Sergeant Barnes.

Bucky returned the salute. Then Tony brought him into a bear hug, maybe squeezing him a bit harder than he should have. After patting Bucky on the back, Tony Stark released him, and, with a brief nod to me, he left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice any inconsistencies in my story, not with marvel, but with myself, please let me know. Also, I'm new to AO3, so I would greatly appreciate feedback through comments. If you like it, hate it, noticed problems with my grammar or something, I would have immense gratitude to you all if you would tell me. Don't worry, I can take criticism.
> 
> I hate to admit it, but i don't have much familiarity with the comics, so the backstory for Bucky and Natasha will mostly come from professional_dreamer's story Budapest on Wattpad. It's a great story and I recommend it to you all. Clint Barton's background doesn't follow anyone's version, as far as I know. Any similarities are completely coincidental. I made it up for the sake of the story, and because I don't know enough about marvel comic canon to use that. Also, as far as I know, Clarrissa doesn't exist in any version of marvel. So yeah...
> 
> How many of you guys are wondering about Clarrissa's apparent abilities? So far, she has sensed a person in a room, tried not to make herself glow, threatened Iron Man, and offered Steve backup. I'm trying not to give too much away. Don't worry, all will be revealed eventually.
> 
> Sorry about that last paragraph. I hate it when authors do that whole 'build suspense and give hints without trying to give it all away, because the actually story isn't interesting enough to encourage people to keep reading' thing, so I don't know why I just did it...
> 
> -The Jellyfish


	9. Kitchen Fire and a Check Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure the title sums it up, yeah?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. Steve feels up ahead.

Bucky

"Wow... That was a bit intense..." I broke the silence we had been enduring for minutes. 

Clarrissa blushed and looked over at me with a slightly apologetic look gracing her features. "Sorry about that. He's not usually like that. Generally he argues more, never admits he's wrong, mopes around in silence for a few days, then, finally, acts as if nothing happened while slightly modifying his behavior to show you that you've won without actually admitting it." She gave a small smile for a second, but then a slight frown creased her lips. Clarissa looked down at the ground for a moment before continuing, her voice a bit quieter. "I don't know what came over him."

I walked around the kitchen counter and stood in front of her. She didn't look up from her study of the kitchen floor tiles. I used one of my hands, making sure it was the real one, to raise her chin. She hesitated for a moment before making eye contact. When she did, I saw the worry in her eyes. 

Why would she be worrying? I didn't understand this girl. At every turn she was doing things that didn't make any sense. Always saying and thinking the last thing I would expect her to. As the Winter Soldier, part of what made me so dangerous was my ability to predict people's actions, the way they think and react. But this girl... I couldn't predict anything. I couldn't wrap my mind around her, the way she acts and thinks, how she feels, they way she cares about people, all people, no matter who they were. Her smile was so genuine. Like Steve's...

Steve. Why was she doing so much for him? Why would she go through so much effort to help him find someone? Why would she put up with everything I'm putting her through to make him happy? She spends all her free time, if you could call it that, at Steve's side, tending to his wounds, making sure he was okay, going through a lot of unnecessary trouble to make him as comfortable as possible. Why would she do that?

Was she putting up with me for Steve's sake? Or was she helping the both of us out of the goodness of her heart? Does that even happen? Do people go through so much just because they are a good person? Nobody does anything out of the goodness of their hearts...

Except Steve. Everything Steve does is because he genuinely cares about everyone, even the people he hasn't met. Could Clarrissa be the same?

"Bucky?" Clarrissa's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. My hand was still under her chin, and she was looking into my eyes, her worried expression increased. "Bucky, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said. I had become a really good liar, but I could tell she didn't buy it.

"Bucky, I'm looking into your eyes. At close range. Not even you can alter the windows to the soul. That's what the eyes are. And I can see that something is wrong... So spill it." Her face had held kindness and worry at first, but by the end of the statement, she had a playful smirk on her lips.

I removed my hand from under her chin and I took a small step back, creating a little distance between the windows to my soul and the windows to hers. "It's nothing, Clarrissa. I just..." Her eyes stared into mine imploringly. I sighed. "I wanted to thank you... for sticking up for me like that. No one has done that since..." I searched back in my memories for a time when someone had stood up for me.

Never. I couldn't remember a time when anyone had defended me. Probably because I had never needed to be defended before. As a kid, I was well-liked, popular. In the army, I was tough, I was a leader, and everyone knew better than to mess with me. It was always my job to defend others, to defend Steve. I had never needed anyone to stand up for me. Steve would have if it was needed, but it never was. So it never happened.

"No one has ever stood up for me before. I've never needed defending. So you're the first. Thank you." Her eyes were always soft, like a kitten or something, (except for when she had been defending me in front of Stark. They were really hard then.) but as I said that, as I confessed my change in stature from defender to defended, her eyes softened even more, so that they were like clouds. Pure, caring, hazel clouds.

It was beautiful.

"I'm glad I could help," she said softly. Clarrissa broke eye contact and looked a the ground, a smile on her face. "Let me know if the need ever arises again. I know you probably won't, but I wish you would." She looked back up to me and smirked. "Someone's got to look after you."

"Clarrissa," I said, drawing out the words.

"Yes, Bucky," she replied, also drawing hers out.

"The breakfast is burning."

Her eyes widened as she sniffed the air. When her nose recognized the smell of burnt food, she gasped and turned around, trying to turn off the stove and the oven at the same time. The bacon caught fire, and she shrieked a little. Not as loud as she could have, but still.

I laughed at her panicking, and went to help her. Pushing her gently aside, I grabbed the metal lid for the pan and put it over the bacon, extinguishing the fire. I turned off the burners for the bacon and eggs at the same time. Then I turned off the oven, opened the door, and reached in with my metal arm. Since it was metal and the oven wasn't even really that hot, I was able to grab the smoking cookie sheet from the oven and bring it out with about zero threat to my health. 

I grabbed Stark's milk glass from the counter, filled it with water, and poured some into the egg pan. I grabbed some potholders off a hook and set them underneath the cookie sheet that held the burnt cinnamon toast. I set the glass in the sink, turned on the faucet, and ran by metal fingers under the water to cool them off from their contact with hot metal.

Then I turned around to face Clarrissa.

She was looking at me with the biggest, goofiest grin on her face, and I could tell she was trying not to laugh. I raised my eyebrow, and she answered the unspoken question. "Who would have guessed that Bucky Barnes would be handy in a kitchen?" Then she couldn't hold it in any longer and she began to laugh.

I smirked and chuckled a little. "I'm good with fires, that's all. I'm actually a terrible cook. The only thing I know how to do is peel and boil potatoes." 

She laughed even harder. Mission accomplished.

Clarrissa had a really nice laugh. Most people don't look all that great when they're laughing hysterically, but, somehow, she pulled it off. It had been so long since I'd really made a person laugh. It felt good. Really good. 

"Well, maybe I'll give you some lessons sometime." She had calmed down enough to talk, but her eyes were watering from laughter, and she looked as if she might have a relapse of giggles any second.

I smirked to hide a pleased smile. "I look forward to it." I said it with sarcasm, but I meant it. Learning to cook from Clarrissa didn't sound half bad.

Clarrissa

"Well," I said, trying to escape from my previous giggle fit. "Since I destroyed breakfast, why don't we just have cereal instead? I shouldn't be able to burn that."

"What's cereal?" The look of confusion on Bucky's face was priceless. I giggled again, careful not to let it turn to hysterics this time. I couldn't believe how hard I'd laughed. It wasn't even actually that funny. I guess I had just been a bit overwhelmed by the combination of the conversation with Tony, setting bacon on fire, and Bucky being the one to deal with it.

"Let me show you." I went to the pantry and grabbed all the assorted flavors of cereal that Stark Tower had to offer. I brought them to the counter and told Bucky to pick one. I grabbed the milk off the counter where Tony had left it, and brought it over. Then I grabbed two bowls and two spoons.

Bucky had picked Frosted Flakes. I chose Captain Crunch. I poured our chosen cereals into our bowls, poured in the milk, and gave Bucky a spoon. Slowly, carefully, he dipped his spoon into the bowl, scooped some flakes into the spoon, and brought it to his lips.

After he removed the empty spoon from his mouth, he began to chew. The moment he did, his eyebrows shot up, and they didn't come down as he shovelled another spoonful into his mouth. "This... is so... good." He spoke in between bites. The look on his face was a mix between surprise and approval.  

"I'm glad you like it," I said as I began to eat my own breakfast. We ate in silence after that, Bucky too caught up in cereal, and I too caught up in my thoughts, for conversation.

Once we finished, I put all the milk and cereal boxes away. Bucky and I rinsed out our bowls and put water and soap in the burnt pans so I could try to wash them later.

"Alright, Bucky, come with me." He looked at me with confusion. 

"Where are we going?"

"To the Infirmary."

"To see Steve?" 

"Yes and no."

"What?" His confusion was increased by about 100%.

I giggled. "We are going to see Steve, but that isn't all we need to go to the Infirmary for. I have to recheck your wound." He still looked confused. "You know, the gunshot wound in your abdomen?" 

His expression cleared. "Right, that."

I giggled again and we headed to the elevator.

We rode up in silence. Unfortunately, Tony hates elevator music, so Stark Tower doesn't have any. When we got to the infirmary, we went to Steve's bed. I asked Friday for an update.

"The Captain Rogers' vitals haven't changed. Several of his wounds appear to have made great progress. I estimate he should wake up in another day or two, but even then he will require another two weeks of bedrest before he will be able to walk around a little. Captain Rogers has a long road of recovery ahead of him."

"Thank you, Friday. Is there anything more I can do for him other than keeping his wounds clean?"

"No, Clarrissa, there is nothing more you can do. The serum Captain Rogers was given will take care of his wounds. You've done as much as is needed, other than cleansing the wounds for the next few days."

"Thanks again, Friday." I walked over to Steve. Grabbing a cloth from beside his bed and dropping it in a bowl of clean water, I unwrapped the bandages around his arm and leg. I mixed some rubbing alcohol in with the water. I wrung out the cloth and used it to clean the exposed wounds. Then, after drying them and adding some anti-inflammatory cream, I wrapped them back up with fresh bandages. I repeated the process with the wound on his chest. "Don't forget to let me know if anything changes, Friday."

The AI assured me that she would continue monitoring Steve's recovery and I turned to Bucky. "You're turn." I directed him to one of the other beds and, after taking off his shirt, he lay down. I was surprised that he didn't hesitate before doing so. Maybe he had actually begun to trust me a little, at least enough to let me tend to his wound. 

I gasped when I saw blood soaked through the bandages. I shot a worried look at Bucky's face, but he merely shrugged. I removed the crimson cloth from his abdomen and examined the wound. Some of his stitches had been ripped, opening the laceration again. It took me a moment to realize what had caused his injury to reopen, but then I remembered. Last night, when I entered his room, he threw me against the wall. He moved so quickly, after being so badly injured, it's no surprise it managed to make his stitches come out.

What is a surprise is how fast he moved last night. And how he managed to lose blood all night and not pass out. 

"Bucky! Did you know your wound had reopened?" I demanded. 

He shrugged. "I had a suspicion."

I was suddenly really angry. "Why didn't you say something? I get the whole pride thing. I get wanting to look tough and strong. But do you not realize how bad this could have been had I not checked your wound? You could have died of bloodloss." When I saw him shrug again, my anger died away and was replaced by sadness.

"Do you not realize that you are no good to Steve as a dead man? Do you realize how much your death would destroy him? And over something as petty as pride. Something that could have been stopped. When you fell out of that train, he changed, permanently. He has never been the same. He was only able to go on because he still had goals, like taking down Hydra. He still had people around him. The other Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter, and others as well. But if you die now, he'll have virtually nothing. He lost all his old friends when he was frozen for 70 years. When he learned you were alive, you became practically everything to him. If he lost you, it would destroy him. You have to live."

Bucky looked away from me, doubt in his eyes. "I couldn't possibly mean that much to him. Besides he still has people. He has the Avengers. He has goals, one of which being saving the world. I'm sure he'd be fine without me." The look of sorrow in his eyes told me he believed what he was saying.

"Are you serious?" I had raised my voice, on the verge of shouting at him. His eyes jerked to meet mine. "You don't get it, do you?" I interrupted him before he could answer the question. "No, you don't. How could you? You haven't been here to see what's been happening. You haven't seen the nightmares. You haven't seen his eyes red from crying, even though he tries to hide it. You haven't seen the look of despair on his face when he thinks he won't be able to find you. You haven't seen him refusing to eat out of sorrow."

His eyes closed, like what I was saying was painful to hear. Well, I was sorry to hurt him, but he needed to hear it. "I have seen it, Bucky. I see it all the time. Even before he asked me to help him find you, I saw him often, and I saw the tole not being able to find you was taking on him. I need you to stick around, Bucky. I need you to get better. I need you to be his friend again, for Steve's sake. Without you, he'll brake. I'm sure of it. I know him. Maybe not as well as you, but I do. You are the most important thing in the world to him."

His eyes were still closed. I saw a tear form in the corner of his left one. He was shaking his head slightly. "Please, Bucky. I need you to understand."

He opened his eyes, and his blue orbs met my hazel ones. Slowly, he nodded his head. I smiled warmly at him. "Alright then. I'll tend to your wound." And that's what I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I want for Christmas is Comments and Kudos.
> 
> Please tell me Christmas is in March this year...


	10. The Hard Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, but no less important, conversation between Bucky and Clarrissa.
> 
> Literally, thr shortest chapter I have ever written. Ever. In my entire life.
> 
> I wrote longer stuff in kindergarten.
> 
> Next chapter is fun though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The background for Clint and Clarrissa does NOT follow the comics. It is my own version for story purposes. I'm pretty sure I mentioned this in the story summary thing, but I thought this might be a good time to reiterate it, just in case some of you comic-oriented people got confused.

Bucky

"Hey, Clarrissa?" I asked as she worked on my wound.

"Yeah, Bucky?"

I hesitated before continuing. "Earlier, when you and Stark were... talking, you guys mentioned your parents..."

Her eyes jumped from my abdomen to my eyes, lingered there for a moment, then looked back at what she was doing. "What about it?"

"Stark said something about you understanding how he felt because of how you were orphaned, right?"

"Yeah, something like that." She didn't seem to like this conversation, but my curiosity was a bit overwhelming.

I waited a few seconds until she made eye contact again. I wanted to see her exact reaction. "What did Stark mean by that?" 

She worked in silence for a minute or two. Then she sighed. "My parents were killed when I was very young. They were murdered. My brother Clint and I barely escaped."

I thought about that for a moment. "Did you ever find out who did it?"

"Yes, Clint and I caught him a few years back. We didn't have any missions and we wanted to do something constructive together. You know, for bonding or something. We decided it might be a good brother/sister bonding activity to track down our parents' killer and put him away for all eternity. I guess going to a movie or getting shakes would be too normal for spy siblings."

I chuckled, which really hurt with my wound being in my abdomen and all, but I didn't let it show.

"That sounds perfect."

"Yeah." Neither of us said anything for maybe a minute and a half, which is a long time in an awkward silence. "Was there any point to asking about it?" she finally spoke.

"Not really," I replied. "It just occurred to me that, having read my file, you know a lot about me, but I don't really know anything about you."

"Hmm." She thought for a moment before continuing. "I have been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent since I was 16. When S.H.I.E.L.D. shut down after the Project Insight failure, I became a kind of 'agent for hire,' I guess, though I have been extremely picky about who I work for. Mostly, it's been Stark Industries, or what remains of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. My main job has been tracking down Hydra agents. Just as your code name was the Winter Soldier, mine is Bluejay. My brother, Clint Barton, is Hawkeye, one of the Avengers. Anything else you want to know?"

It took me a second to decide whether she actually wanted me to answer that question. Then I decided I didn't care either way. "If your parents were killed when you were really young, who raised you?"

She stared at me blankly, blinked a couple times, then sighed. "I think we've had enough sharing for one day, Bucky."

I guess I had taken it too far, crossed a line I couldn't see. "Sorry."

She sighed again. "It's alright, Bucky. It's just... your hard stuff, the stuff you probably don't want to talk about because it was a difficult time, is your time with Hydra, right?" When I nodded my agreement, she continued. "Well, my hard stuff is my childhood." I nodded again, sorry for bringing up painful memories.

"Bucky, let's make a deal. I won't ask you about your time with Hydra. I'll wait until you are ready to tell me. In return, you won't ask me about my childhood. You'll trust me to tell you when I'm ready. Okay?"

I smiled at her (it was still kind of weird to do that), a small, warm, soft smile. "That sounds good."

A few minutes later, she finished fixing up my wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short, but I don't really know where to take this chapter from here, I'm having a bit of writer's block, I'm way too busy to spend much time on it right now, and I haven't posted in a while so I felt I should update and give you guys a little more info on Clarrissa's backstory, which, I repeat, I made up.
> 
> So I know I have a tendency to be rather comma heavy and use compound words at the beginning of sentences. If I make a spelling or grammar mistake or my commas or compound words bother you, don't be afraid to tell me. I love grammar Nazis and appreciate them to no end, and I also appreciate feedback, so don't be shy about telling me if something bothers you!


	11. Couch Potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has got some stuff to learn, and Clarrissa going to give him an education.
> 
> Also, some little spoilers/hints about Clarrissa's past are in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have gone a bit overboard with Clarrissa's thought process about choosing a movie, but I just wanted to show how much she cared about him and worried about him and how much effort she put into making things better for him.

Clarrissa  
When I finished fixing up Bucky, we checked on Steve one more time and left the Infirmary. 

I decided that, since Bucky had spent the last 70 years or so as a slave of Hydra, it would be a good idea to catch him up on what he's missed.

First things first. Movies.

I figured I should start him off soft with something generally lacking in violence. I also decided I should start him with animated movies, so that any violence would be less realistic and would be less likely to trigger a reaction from Bucky.

Disney or Pixar. That's about it.

Not Finding Nemo. That would just be weird. Not Aladdin, because, as funny as the movie is, I don't know how Bucky would react to all the magic and stuff, because of when he's from (did I seriously just think when he's from what the heck is this, Doctor Who?). Not Cinderella, the abuse she suffered might trigger something. Not Beauty and the Beast, because Bucky might try to identify with Beast, which would not be good, and there is magic. Sleeping Beauty has the same problem as Aladdin, as does Frozen and Brave. Bambi is just emotionally painful. Dumbo... I don't even really know what Dumbo is about. But it has an elephant with larger than average ears, and they're in a circus. I'll pass. Snow White suffered from abuse at the hands of her Step-Mother and there is magic. Seeing as he is from the first half of the 1900s, I don't know how he would respond to the racial discrimination in Pocahontas. Tangled is funny, but, again, magic. Lion King is emotionally painful as well (I've cried nearly every time I've watched that movie). Princess and the Frog has magic. Gosh, Disney, you have problems.

I kept trying to think of something I might have forgotten, something more recent that would be a good starter for Bucky. Not too much violence. No magic. No racism. No abuse, in childhood or adulthood, physical, emotional, or mental.

Is this what it is like to be a parent?

Think brain, think. What about Bug's Life? Definitely not, there is serious abuse in that movie. Maybe Fox and the Hound? Nope, that movie has abuse, and is emotionally painful. Wall-e?

Wall-e.

Bucky  
"Hey, Buck?" Clarrissa yelled from the sitting room.

"Yeah?" I walked into the room. She was standing in front of the couch, a small, rectangular case in one hand.

She gestured to the couch. "Have a seat, Bucky." I gave her a slightly nervous look and complied with her request.

"Is, um, is something wrong?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed," she replies cryptically.

Oh, yeah. I was definitely nervous now.

I flashed her a wary look and gestured for her to continue. 

"Bucky," she began, "you have been trained in the ways of combat, in survival, in the ways of the soldier and the art of the spy. However, there is something critical that you are missing. Something that we must all strive to master." She paused, and I couldn't tell if it was for dramatic effect, if she was gathering her thoughts, or if she expected me to say something.

After nearly a minute of silence, I took the hint and spoke. "And what is that?" 

She smiled at me, a look of determination in her eyes. I held my breath, waiting for her to answer my question. I leaned forward on the couch, unconsciously getting closer to her. Clarrissa took a breath, and I saw her lean toward me slightly as well. "The art of the couch potato." Her voice was solemn and her expression was one of awe.

I didn't let out the breath I was holding as I stared at her, my eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "What?" I was so lost.

"The art of the couch potato." She restated it, but that didn't help one bit.

"I heard you the first time, Clarrissa."

She wrinkled up her face. "Then what are you confused about?"

"Um, how about the following:

What is a couch potato?

Why is it necessary to learn?

If it is necessary to learn, why haven't I been taught it yet?

Since I haven't learned it, what should I do?"

Clarrissa nodded her head and pressed her pointer finger into the tip of her nose, something I've noticed her do when she's thinking. "Those are good questions. Allow me to answer them:

A couch potato is someone who is extremely skilled at relaxing and watching movies and TV, generally on a couch.

It is necessary to learn because it is part of the American culture, relaxing is important, and there is no better way of catching you up to speed on all that you've missed the last 70 years than by practicing the art of the couch potato.

You haven't learned it yet because it is a very American activity and Hydra is a terrible organization that didn't want you to be American, didn't want you to relax, and thought American capitalism was the end of the world.

You don't need to worry about having not learned it, because I am a master of the art of the couch potato, and I shall train you. You shall be my apprentice." 

I nodded my head, considering her words. Everything made sense to me. And, considering this was something Hydra didn't want me to learn, I was determined to learn it, to spite them. "Where do we start?"

Clarrissa smiled brightly, her lips spread from ear to ear. She held up the rectangular case she had been holding to show me. The cover showed what appeared to be a very dirty robot, with the word WALL-E written across it. I eyed it nervously and glanced up at Clarrissa. "What is it?"

"This, my friend, is called a movie. I know you had things called movies in the 40's, but this is a modern movie. You put it into a thing called a DVD player, which is hooked up to a Television, or TV for short. Then the movie plays on the TV screen. Okay?"

I nodded. "If this is what it takes to become a couch potato and master this art, then I'm game."

She smiled, but then gave me a slight frown. "Bucky, before we watch this movie, there is something I need you to understand." When I nodded for her to keep going, she continued. "Bucky, this movie is fiction. That means that it isn't real. The people who created the movie made it up with their imaginations. There are no real people in this movie. In fact, this movie is animated, which means they didn't have real people play the characters. They used a computer to create digital images that don't look real, but can still be recognized for what they are. Understand?"

After thinking about everything she said, I hesitantly nodded my head. "I think so."

Clarrissa's original smile came back. "Alright then. Let's get started."

*****

Clarrissa popped popcorn in something called a Microwave Oven and we sat down on the couch. She pressed the play button on a "remote" and the movie started. Once the robot called Eve was introduced, Clarrissa kept saying things like "Way better love story than Twilight." and "Relationship goals." I didn't understand what she meant, so I just kept watching the movie, trying to understand everything that happened.

I got really sad when WALL-E got hurt. I didn't understand why. Wall-e was a fictional robot in a movie that wasn't real. Wall-e didn't actually exist. I asked Clarrissa why I felt sad, and she told me that movies and TV shows generally cause an emotional reaction, generating something called 'feels.' Sometimes these feels were good feelings, and sometimes they were bad feelings. She said that getting sad about Wall-e was an example of bad feels, because the feelings produced by the movie were negative feelings. It was all really complicated, but I thought I was getting the hang of it.

When the movie was over I spoke. "Hey, you know that robot thing called Auto?"

Clarrissa looked over at me. "Yeah, what about him?"

"Was he, like, an evil version of Friday, Mr. Stark's computer voice thing?"

Clarrissa thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so. Actually, yes, that is very accurate. Did you hear about Ultron?" I nodded my head. "Well, I guess Auto is like Ultron. He was created for one purpose, but ended up malfunctioning in a way that lead him to do something different and dangerous."

"Oh," I said, nodding my head. "Kind of like me."

Clarrissa

"How on earth are you anything like Auto or Ultron?" Darn it! I picked WALL-E because I didn't think he would be able to relate to anything in it. How did he manage to identify with an evil, malfunctioning robot?

"Well, before I was forced to join Hydra, I was a soldier whose purpose was to fight America's enemies and protect American citizens. Then, I was brainwashed, which I guess is kind of like malfunctioning, and forced to join Hydra, which is like differing from the purpose I was created for. Then, when I betrayed Hydra and saved Steve after he fell into the Potomac, that was like malfunctioning again, only this time I was undoing some of Hydra's brainwashing, differing from the purpose they created the Winter Soldier for."

I sighed. He was kind of right. When he was with Hydra, they even kind of treated him like a robot, not caring about his needs, wants, or basic human instincts/desires. I should have realized that sooner.

"Clarrissa." I was startled when he spoke again. I turned to look at him, knowing my disappointment was showing on my face. He sighed when he saw it. "I know that you are trying to keep from exposing me to stuff that might hurt me. I know that's why you chose to show me a kid's movie instead of one for people my age."

I was surprised by his perceptiveness. "Technically, you are, like, 90, so this is a movie for people your age."

Bucky chuckled. It was a nice sound and I was saddened that he doesn't do it very often. "While that was very funny, I'm being serious. I get it, you're scared that I'll see something and it will trigger some memory and I'll attack you." He sighed again, and my heart broke.

"Bucky, I'm not worried you'll attack me. That was the farthest thing from my mind. I wasn't worried about myself at all. I didn't want you to hurt yourself. You told me last night that you don't have all your memories. I was worried that if I showed you something violent or something that it might trigger one of your repressed memories and you'd react badly in response. I wasn't trying to protect myself, Buck. I was trying to protect you."

He looked utterly shocked at what I said. "But weren't you worried that I would try to hurt you?"

I shook my head. "No, Buck. Try is the operative word. You might try to hurt me, but..." I paused, unsure of how to continue. "Bucky, do you trust me?"

He hesitated a moment before nodding slowly. "I think so, yeah."

I smiled a little, happy that he would be willing to trust me even though he barely knew me. "Well then, since you trust me, just believe me when I say that you would have a very, very hard time trying to hurt me."

Bucky looked skeptical, but he didn't argue. He nodded his head slightly and leaned back into the couch, taking some popcorn out of the bowl on the cushion between us. "You know, Clarrissa, I really like popcorn."

I giggled. "Yeah, I noticed. If you want, I can make you some more?" He looked over at me and gave a strained smile, almost like his facial muscles weren't used to the motion. He nodded, and I grinned. Getting up, I headed over to the kitchen. Before I got there I turned around. 

"Hey Buck?"

He looked at me over his shoulder, a handful of popcorn paused halfway to his mouth. "Yeah, Clarrissa?"

"There's a big difference between you and Ultron and Auto." He furrowed his eyebrows and waited for me to continue. "When you 'malfunctioned,'" I used air quotes to emphasize his word choice, "you turned away from evil and chose to do good by saving Cap leaving Hydra. Ultron and Auto were weak, giving into the darkness that tries to claim each one of us. You were strong. You fought back, and you won. You chose the good side." He smiled slightly as I said this, and I smiled back. "That's a pretty good difference, don't you think?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, it is. Thanks." My smile widened and I turned again to go to the kitchen when his voice stopped me. "Has the darkness tried to claim you, Clarrissa?"

I didn't move. I didn't turn back to face him. I didn't keep walking. I didn't breath. My heart nearly stopped beating. All I could do was think and remember. I remembered watching my parents be murdered. I remembered growing up without parents. I remember Clint leaving me when I was 11 so he could join SHIELD. I remembered how I was mistreated without him around to protect me. I remembered joining SHIELD and the mission that went wrong. I remembered being held captive for months. I remembered being tortured in horrifying ways before Clint and Nat found and saved me. I remembered being experimented on.

All the terrible things that had happened in my life came rushing through my mind like a flash flood that just kept coming. It wouldn't stop, and I was drowning in the flood that was my past. I just kept standing there, a blank expression on my face and an entire life flashing before my eyes. Then suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. 

My reflexes as an agent kicked in. I grabbed the wrist that was attached to the hand on my shoulder, twisting it and sending the owner flying to the ground. As I did that, the lights of the Tower flickered for a moment, and I knew my eyes had flashed blue in that moment. Luckily the man who had scared me had been lying on the ground, so he hadn't seen me for what I was.

Just as I realized the man I had flipped was Bucky, he used when of his legs to sweep my legs out from under me, sending me crashing onto the floor. Before I could say anything, Bucky was on top of me, straddling my waist and pinning my wrists to the floor. I could feel myself losing control, and I closed my eyes to hide the blue as the Tower lights flickered again. My natural instinct to protect and defend myself was fighting my desire to help Bucky and get him to trust me. Fighting him would not help him trust me.

The lights flickering caught his attention and he looked away from me to try and determine the source. I felt myself calm down and my eyes returned to normal. The lights stopped flickering, but Bucky continued to look around. 

When I was calm enough and back to normal, I spoke again. "Bucky, I'm sorry." My voice startled him, and he whipped his head around to look at me, his shoulder length hair flying as he did so. "I didn't mean to, I promise, Bucky. I was just lost in thought and you startled me." The fierce look in his eyes turned to wariness as I spoke, and I could tell he wasn't sure if he could believe me.

"Bucky, look in my eyes and tell me what you see. Do I look like I want to hurt you?" Slowly he obeyed my request, his blue orbs searching my hazel ones. "If I wanted to hurt you, wouldn't I be fighting back? Would I have stopped with just flipping you, or would I have kept going?" The fire in his eyes began to ebb away, but the wariness remained.

I sighed and whispered, "Please, Bucky. All I wanted was for you to trust me. Please tell me I didn't screw that up..." As I said that, I stared into his eyes. As they went back to the way they were before, his death grip on my wrists loosened. I could already tell the arm his metal appendage had been pinning would be badly bruised, but I wasn't worried about that.

Slowly, Bucky released my arms entirely and moved from sitting on my stomach. I gave a sigh of relief and sat up. Bucky got to his feet and offered me a hand (noticeably not his metal one). After I took it, he helped me up. I looked up at him to apologize, but then I saw the guilty look it his eyes. I sighed. 

"Bucky, you have no reason to feel guilty or sorry. You did nothing wrong. I'm the one who freaked out and attacked you, okay? I'm really sorry."

The soldier let out a sharp exhale. "But I-"

"No," I interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "You. Did. Nothing. Wrong. It was my fault. I was zoned out and reacted without thinking."

"But I'm the one that asked you the question that made you zone out in the first place. And I touched you when you obviously weren't okay."

"You only touched me to get my attention and see if I was alright. And the question was a totally reasonable question to ask."

"But I asked about the hard stuff." His voice was quiet now, barely above a whisper, and he refused to look me in the eye. "We had a deal, and I broke it. I asked you about the hard stuff. I wasn't supposed to." Bucky looked like an abused puppy expecting to be hit. If I thought my heart had ached for him before, now it totally, 100% broken. Shattered.

"Oh, Buck..." I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, wrapping my arms around his neck. He froze, completely taken by surprise, but slowly, since I didn't let go, he relaxed and wrapped his arms around me waist. "Bucky, I started it. I mentioned your past before you asked the question. So technically, I broke the deal. Not you. Besides, the deal wasn't exactly fair to begin with. I already know so much about you because of Steve and SHIELD's files on you. You don't really know anything about me. Your question was reasonable and natural." I pulled away a little so I could see his face. "Here I am, asking you to trust me, when you hardly even know me at all."

Bucky smiled a little. "I don't really care how much you tell me about yourself. Actions speak louder than words, and I can tell you are a good person. Steve trusts you, and you've done everything you can to take care of him and me. I know I can trust you." I smiled so big at that, my face probably cracked in half. I pulled him in to the hug again.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Bucky." After a second or two, I pulled away, and moved toward the kitchen again. Pausing at the door, I looked at him over my shoulder. "And to answer you question, Bucky, yes. The darkness has tried to claim me many times."

With that, I went to make the Winter Soldier another bowl of popcorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally had not planned for Bucky to identify with Auto until I was writing this and the movie was over and I needed Bucky to say something, and then it just kind of happened. This chapter totally ran away from me, and I had no control.


	12. Empathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Clarrissa are in the Infirmary (*sigh* again) to get Bucky's bandages shower-worthy. A deep talk ensues, due to the fact that Clarrissa is involved, and that deep talk leads to the very interesting events of chapter 13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels ahead. Bucky and Clarrissa. But there are even more feels in chapter 13, so consider yourselves warned.
> 
> This just kind of wrote itself. Not my fault. Don't blame me for any of those sticky things called feelings you might accumulate by reading this. And don't blame me if your heart is dead and cold so you feel nothing.
> 
> I don't have a beta, all mistakes are mine and will be fixed if pointed out. So, in a way, all of my lovely readers are my betas.
> 
> Enjoy

Clarrissa  
While Bucky was eating his forth bowl of popcorn, I went up to the lab to check on my search for Banner. When we still didn't have any hits, I decided to adjust my search from Africa and the Middle East to places where Dr. Banner would be able to blend in. He looked decidedly Italian in my opinion so b I focused the search in Italy, along with places like Greece, France, and Germany. I figured it might be possible that he decided to throw us off his trail by going to the least likely places: high density, generally 1st world, European countries where he looked close to the same as the locals. When he wasn't green, that is.

Once that was done, I entrusted the search to Friday for a few moments to check my email. It appeared that I missed a training session yesterday. I'd have to make it up soon. I would have done it then, but I knew that Bucky had wanted to take a shower after he'd eaten, and I'd have to show him how the nobs worked and I'd have to dress his wounds in a way that they could get wet. Then I'd have to redress them again after he'd showered. I'd also need to get him a razor. He'd likely want a cut-throat instead of one of our 'new-fangled' ones. I'd have to make up the training later. Maybe before dinner or tomorrow morning.

I had Friday do an eBay search for any cut-throat razors nearby. While she was doing that, I went to the Infirmary to check on Steve and prepare the supplies I'd need to dress Bucky's wound. Steve was showing lots of improvement after only a couple days. I had no doubt he'd make a quick recovery. He'd probably be out tossing his metal Frisbee at bad guys by the time the Avengers moved into Stark Tower (which would then be called Avengers Tower) at the end of the month.

Just as I was finishing up organizing supplies, Bucky came in. "Hey, Clarrissa, would now be a bad time to show me how the showers work?"

Sparing him a look over my shoulder, I smiled. "No, Bucky, now is a perfect time. I'll have to dress your wound with the proper wraps first though. Come over here, sit down, and take off your shirt."

He nodded and came over to sit down. He took off his shirt, though he still looked embarrassed about his arm. I decided to take a risk. "Does it hurt?"

At first, Bucky thought I was talking about the wound on his abdomen, but then he realized I was looking at his arm. "Not anymore. It hurt when they were putting it on. The early technology was a bit off, but once they got the bugs put, it stopped hurting except for when they were doing maintenance and cleaning."

"Maintenance and cleaning?"

"Yeah. If my android got messed up on a mission, they would have to fix it. Sometimes it was just a dent, so that wasn't too bad. Other times, wiring had to be redone or they had to replace one of the metal plates. That hurt. A lot. They did a routine cleaning every couple of months, too. My arm practically had to sparkle or they thought it was dirty. Dirt and grime tends to get in the grooves, so it could get pretty filthy. At times, when they really had to dig to get the junk out, they would brush against something that really hurt." He still seemed embarrassed, but talking about his arm seemed to help. Most likely, Bucky had only ever really talked about his arm with the scientists. Everyone else was either too scared or weirded out to bring up the topic. Maybe he thought that since I was comfortable with talking about it, I wasn't creeped out or afraid. And I wasn't. Never have been.

"You probably don't like your arm, do you?" I refused to look him in the eye as I asked this question. I chose to focus on his wound instead, which was a good thing, since that was what I was supposed to be doing anyway.

He took a minute to answer, and when he did, his voice was very quiet. "No. I don't like it."

We sat in silence for a little while. When I was almost done, I took a risk and spoke again. "I get why you don't."

His head jerked up. "How could you possibly get it? Everybody who has ever actually had the guts to talk about it said it's a privilege or that is cool. They talk about how useful it is. That having this... thing is better than having no arm at all. They never got it. None of them did. So why would you? There's nothing freaky about you."

Towards the end of his rant, he sounded a bit accusatory. The last sentence actually stung a bit, but I knew where he was coming from. I actually did understand, so I brushed it off. "Just because there's nothing that seems freaky about me on the outside, doesn't mean I'm not freaky. Looks can be deceiving." He shook his head slightly, still doubting me. "I do understand, Bucky. Before you were captured by Hydra, you didn't have that kind of imperfection. You were handsome, and strong, and popular with the ladies. People looked up to you. People respected you, not because they feared you, but because you were someone they admired. People wanted to be like you. Before Hydra, everyone wanted to look like you.  Now, no one does. Not only that, but your am is a physical sign of the change you went through. Before Hydra, normal arm. During and after Hydra, metal arm. It represents the change from Bucky Barnes to the Winter Soldier. And the fact that you are stuck with that arm, that you can't go back to the way you looked before, proves that you can never be the same. You can cut your hair, shave your face, get your memories back, and join the good guys. But you will never be the same Bucky that you were before you fell from that train. Your arm is a symbol of that."

The whole time I spoke, I watched out of the corner of my eye as he stared at me. I would not look at him. I just couldn't bring myself to do that quite yet. "Am I right, Bucky?" He nodded ever so slightly. His eyes were wide, his jaw had dropped, and the look he was giving me... it was a combination of things. Part awe at the fact that I actually knew what he was feeling, part gratefulness for my understanding, and part compassion at the realization that the only way I could truly know all of this was if I had felt the same way. The only way I could understand him, was if I could relate. I could see in his eyes that he was recalling what I said about still being freaky even if I don't look the part. I knew that right now he was probably wondering just how freaky I was. And how I got to be that way. 

My suspicions were confirmed when he spoke. "How... What happened to you, Clarrissa?"

I sighed. There were a couple ways this could go. 

1) I could just not tell him. He wouldn't know, not yet, and our tentative friendship would be secure, for now. 

2) I could tell him, but only tell him part of the truth. I could just tell him the parts that he was less likely to freak out about. I could play it safe, not as safe as the first option, but still mare safe than telling him everything.

3) I could tell him everything. He would know the truth,  and he might not trust me. He could freak out, run away, hate me for being what I an, or, worst of all, be afraid me. 

4) I could tell him everything, and he just might, possibly, accept me. 

I looked up into his eyes, reading what I could see there. He was curious. He was concerned. He was anxious. Most of all, though, he seemed hopeful. I didn't know why. Maybe he wanted to be able to relate to me. Maybe he hoped there truly was someone who he could empathize with, who knew what it felt like to be him. I didn't think our similarities were quite that great, but I knew there was a chance that telling him my secret would help him. There was a chance that, by knowing about me, it could raise his confidence, increase his self-esteem, help him come to terms with who he is, and give him the ability to believe that people can accept him, no matter how freaky he is. 

With that possibility, I knew I had no choice. I had to tell him.

"Alright, Bucky. I'll tell you my secret."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you see why I was saying chapter 13 is important. It's important for another reason too, but I'm not giving anything away so deal with it.


	13. The Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, what you've all been waiting for... 
> 
> Clarrissa's story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm sorry this took so long. I'm homeschooled, so the days run together and basically, it was time to go to church on Sunday and I was like, "What happened to Saturday?" So yeah, so it's late, and enjoy the update.

Bucky

"Alright, Bucky. I'll tell you my secret."

I let out the breath I had been holding. I had hoped she would trust me enough to tell me, though I had no idea why she would. It seemed I had earned more of her trust than I thought.

How could she know all that? How could she understand so completely what I felt? She had to have gone through something horrible, and irreversible, and life changing to understand, but she seemed so normal. No PTSD. No trust issues (from what I could tell). No visible scars. No shaking. No flinching at contact with other people. She seemed like every other girl in the world. She seemed normal.

But not really, now that I was thinking about it. I had had so much trouble predicting her thoughts and feelings and actions. She always surprised me. She seemed to understand what I needed. She didn't push me. She didn't try to force me to do anything. Clarrissa was accommodating, and considerate, and polite. She was kind, even with me, and trusting, even with me, and patient, even with me. How could she be so... understanding and sympathetic and empathetic without having gone through something that allowed her to know what I needed, why I needed it, and how long I was going to need it?

She was not normal.

She was anything but.

Looking up at Clarrissa, I saw how nervous she was. Her skin was slightly pale, I could see her pulse in her neck had sped up, and I could feel that her hands were a little clammy as she finished with my wound. 

Once she had completed the procedure, she cleaned her hands and sat down next to me, but I noticed that she didn't sit too close. She tried to keep her distance. At first, I thought it was because of me, but then I saw her expression and knew she was worried about how I would react. I sighed and placed a hand on her arm. "Clarrissa, you don't need to worry. I am the last person that should be judging anybody."

She smiled softly. "Clarri. That's what my parents called me. Clint, my brother, kept it up for years. I suppose it just kind of stuck, because now all my friends call me that. You can too, if you want."

I nodded, a grin slipping past my facade. "Will do..., Clarri."

She took a deep breath and continued. "When I was 3 and Clint was 9, my family was attacked. It was just one man, but he caught us by surprise and my parents were more worried about Clint and I than themselves. He had knocked on the door, and, not knowing who it was, my dad had opened it. As soon as he saw the man though, he yelled back to my mom to get me and Clint out of there. I don't remember it myself, but Clint has told me the story several times.

"Before my dad could finish his sentence, the man was on him, stabbing him. My brother screamed, but my mom managed to keep her cool. She handed me to Clint and told him to run, told him to protect me. He did. He got out of there as fast as he could.

"The man had seen him though. He had seen him leave with me. I don't know exactly what he said - Clint doesn't like to elaborate on the details - but basically it was along the lines of, 'When I'm finished with your parents, I'm coming for you.' So, nine year old Clint Barton decided the best way to keep us alive, to keep the guy from finding us and coming for us, was to run away.

"It took 3 days befire he realized his brilliant plan wasn't going to work. Luckily, the town he'd got us to had a circus at the time. One of the performers found us, when Clint was minutes away from passing out, and took us back to the tents. She fed us and let us sleep, but when we woke up the next day, the ringmaster tried to kick us out. Clint made a deal. If he worked in the circus, performed, and made sure I stayed out of they way, they'd feed us and take us with them. The ringmaster agreed, as long as I helped out the circus as soon as I was old enough.

"Clint had always had really good aim. It was even better from a distance, because he could see better. He'd do performances with stones, knives, darts, or anything else they gave him to throw. Knocking stuff over, hitting targets, etc., etc. People liked him. Eventually, older performers decided to reture, so they taught their tricks to Clint, and he'd perform those too. As soon as I could, I started helping with cleaning, taking care of the animals, helping out with the ticket booth, and then cooking when I was old enough to be trusted with a stove. Life wasn't perfect, but we were alive and together and the food was good - thanks to me - so it was worth it.

"That changed when I was 11. A guy came to one of the circus' performances. When he saw Clint, who was 17 by then, he was really impressed. They talked and, eventually, Clint agreed to go with him. But he'd have to leave me behind. I hadn't known at the time, but the guy who came to watch was Agent Phil Coulson. He was recruiting Clint to join S.H.I.E.L.D."

I spoke before she could continue. "He just left you behind?" I could feel myself getting angry. How could someone, especially her own brother, leave Clarrissa like that? How could anyone leave behind their own family?

Clarrissa looked over at me. "Yeah. Or, at least, that's what I thought. I hadn't known the whole story at the time. All I knew was that my brother left with some guy, leaving me behind to fend for myself. My brother, who was all I had left, who had practically raised me since I was 3, was going, and he wouldn't tell me where or why. All he said was that he'd come back. Unfortunately, after the first few years, I stopped believing it.

"The ringmaster decided that, since he was losing Clint's act, I would have to replace him. If I didn't, I'd get kicked out of the circus. He said I had to earn my keep." Yep, I was definitely getting very angry, but she put her hand on my forearm to calm me down. 

"I didn't know how to do what Clint did. I had never had as good of aim as him. A couple in the circus, however, were expected their first baby. They had decided to retire from the circus when they baby was born. They were acrobats, and they did the trapeze and walked the tight ropes. The man, the husband, agreed to train me while he wife was pregnant so I could take over when they left.

"I was good. Really good. I mastered the skill pretty quickly, compared to most. By the time the baby was born and the couple left, I was ready to take over, and I did the act better than either of them could. I guess I was just born to fly through the air."

I smiled. "You're the Bluejay, right?"

She noddex, grinning. "That was my stage name, in the circus. Hawkeye was Clint's, and he decided to keep his, so I did the same, when I joined S.H.I.E.L.D a few years later. Anyway, I had started working the trapeze and tightrope when I was 12. Eventually I started making up my own stunts and adding to the style. I did things no one else did, and that made me very popular. It drew attention to the circus. The same man who had taken Clint came to see my act, and he approached me afterwards. 

"I recognized him. Of course I recognized him. How could I forget the man who had taken my brother away from me? I was very hostile, at first. But as he spoke, as he explained things to me, I opened up. He told me his name, that he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., and that my brother was an Agent. He, Agent Coulson, told me that S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted me to join them. I didn't exactly know what he meant, since I was only 16 at the time. All I knew was that he wanted to take me to my brother. I could see him again, if I came with Agent Coulson.

"So I went with him. I started my training. Though I had had no formal education, since I'd been on the road with the circus since I was 3, I proved to be a quick study, just like my brother. I learned fast, and I was exceptionally good with computers. It took almost a year before I was allowed to see Clint. He had been on several missions.

"I looked forward to seeing my brother, of course. But, at the same time, I was angry. He had left me, alone, with no choice but to perform to earn my keep. He had abandoned me, when I was 11. I was angry with him, and I didn't know if I could forgive him.

"When I saw him, I wasn't very nice. He expected me to be angry, but he hadn't expected me to be that angry. He didn't understand. I didn't explain. We parted as... something less than siblings. Something less than friends, even. We kept in touch though. When Clint got married, I was at the wedding. When I was 18, Clint had a mission that went wrong, and he lost his hearing. I helped him learn sign language and prepare for field work without his ears, but I still wasn't anything more than civil to him. By the time I was 19, I was still upset. Clint had gotten tired of it, of the distance I put between us, so he cornered me, and he wouldn't let go until I explained my anger. 

"I told him everything. I told about how the ringmaster had forced me to perform. I told him how I felt when he left, how I stopped believing he would come back for me. He was furious, but not with me. He was mad at the ringmaster.

"Turns out, when Clint left to join S.H.I.E.L.D., he only went because they told him it paid well. He had arranged for them to send part of his monthly pay to the ringmaster so he would take care of me. He lived off of as little as possible and put the rest away in savings so I could get an education when I was older. He only joined so he could make enough money to give the two of us better lives. Aparently, the ringmaster had pocketed the money Clint had been paying him and made me work more anyway.

"After that, Clint and I did some investigating. The ringmaster had been embezzling funds from the circus instead of paying the owner all his dues. Clint and I exposed him, and he got his punishment. Clint had wished the guy had done something worse so his punishment would be worse too."

I felt very satisfied by that. At least the guy hadn't gotten away with what he did to Clarri. I nodded my approval, and she smiled.

"My relationship with Clint improved dramatically. Suddenly, we were thicker than thieves. Only two people in the world were as close to him as me: his wife and Natasha Romanov."

I held back a grimace when she mentioned Natasha. I had known her as Natalia Romanova. We had a... complicated history. I didn't want to interrupt Clarrissa, so I didn't say anything, but I knew I'd have to run into Natalia again soon. She was an Avenger, and she was close with Steve and Clarrissa. The meeting was inevitable, but I dreaded it.

Clarrissa had stopped talking, and I wondered if that was the end of her story. I didn't understand how that would have made her freaky. I looked over at her to ask, but when I saw her facial expression, I knew the story was far from over. She looked like she could cry, if she let herself. "Clarri. What is it?"

She sighed. "Everything had been going so well. Clint had kids, and I was close to them. I was the aunt I should have been from the beginning. I was there, I had a relationship with my brother, and I was doing well as an agent. Nothing was wrong, and I hadn't thought anything could go wrong.

"But, of course, it did. When I was 21, I was sent on a mission. I was to investigate a series of assassinations and report back to S.H.I.E.L.D. I was good at Intel missions. Recon wasn't difficult, so I wasn't worried. Neither was Clint. Unfortunately, there was more to it than we thought.

"The assassinations were ordered by Hydra. By the time I'd figured it out, I was... captured. My communicator was broken in a fight, so I couldn't contact anyone to call for help, or at least tell them what I found. They caught me, and I couldn't get away. I may have been in the circus, but escape acts were never my thing. Clint was good at it, but I wasn't.

"I was a Hydra captive for 11 months. During that time, I was starved, beaten, tortured, and... I was experimented on." I drew in a gasp, but I allowed her to continue. She took a deep breath. "The experiments were long and painful. After they succeeded in their goal to give me... powers..., they tested them. I... I hadn't had any control at the time. During the testing phase, I accidentally killed a lot of people. I knew I had powers, and I knew they were strong enough to get me out, but I couldn't control them. I was helpless.

"Then, 11 months after I had been captured, Clint and Natasha came for me. They broke me out, and in my excitement, I almost killed Clint. They got me back to S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, and the scientists there did more tests. I still killed someone, but it was just the one, thankfully. Eventually, through coaching and practice and a lot of mistakes, I was able to mostly gain control. Basically, I can generally keep myself from activating my powers, and I can use them in small amounts, but if I try to do too much, I start to lose control."

She fell silent. I was about to ask her for more information, but she continued speaking. "They cleared me to leave the holding facility they were using to keep me from accidentally hurting someone, but I wasn't cleared to return to the field. I had to sit at home and do nothing. I had to watch Clint and Nat go out on their missions, knowing I might never be allowed to do the same. It was killing me, not doing anything, and Clint decided some exercise would be good for me.

"That's when we started tracking down the guy who killed our parents. Using his memories and my computer skills, we found him pretty quickly. It wasn't hard to catch him, and it wasn't hard to turn him over to the authorities. Neither of us really got any closure from it though. And then I was left with the same problem. Sitting around, doing nothing."

I hummed, thinking about which of my questions to ask. "Did you ever get cleared for fieldwork?"

Clarrissa shook her head. "No. I do training several times a week to build up my control. I'm almost there, but now I'm not a S.H.I.E.L.D agent anymore, so they can't clear me. But I don't necessarily have to be cleared. Tony wants me to join the Avengers, if I'm ever stable enough to do so. I plan to someday. But I'll always have to be careful."

I nodded, wrapping my head around all the information I'd been given. "Clarri, what exactly are your powers?"

She hesitated. "Energy. I manipulate energy, all kinds of energy except sun light, to do... well, to do whatever I want, really. It's hard to do explain... Did you notice all those times the lights flickered?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Thought it was weird, but it happens."

"That was me," she said. "Basically, to use my powers, I draw energy in from my surroundings. The electricity that powers a building or a device, kenetic energy from motion or lightning or Thor, life energy from a person's body... that's how I killed those people. When I lose control, I draw in energy, all the energy in my vicinity, and, once there's too much for me to contain, it explodes outward. Like a bomb, but worse. When I killed those scientists, it was because I drew all of the energy out of their bodies. Without energy, the body can't live. I took their life energy, and that killed them. It never got to the exploding stage though. If it had, it would have leveled half the USA."

"So the flickering lights were you drawing in energy from the Tower?"

She nodded. "Mhm. I didn't do it on purpose. It's a natural reflex, like taking a defensive stance when you get in a fight, or pointing your gun when you hear a noise. If I don't use the energy, and I have control, I can just return it to where it came from."

"Huh." That was actually pretty cool, though I could definitely see how that made her freaky. And I could see how she understood where I come from. Hydra gave her the powers (Hydra gave me my arm), and the powers killed people when she lost control (if I lose control of myself and fall back into Winter Soldier mode, a lot of people are bound to get killed). She can't get rid of the power (I'm stuck with my arm), and getting it was pretty much hell (do I really need to explain the similarity there?). She was captured on a mission (what a coincidence, so was I), and it took someone close to her to get her out (Steve was the only one able to snap through the mental chains that kept me with Hydra).

We were a lot more alike than I thought.

I was about to say more, but I was interrupted, and not by Clarrissa.

"So you'll tell Bucky the whole story, but I, one of your best friends, heard it, only parts of it, from Clint?"

I knew that voice. I saw Clarrissa snap her eyes up from her lap, saw her staring in the direction of one of the hospital beds, the only occupied hospital bed. I saw her jaw drop. Her voice was soft, quiet, and filled to the brim with disbelief. "S-Steve? You're awake?"

Slowly, I turned my head and looked in the same direction as Clarri. There he was, lying in bed, his eyes barely opened into slits, with a goofy smile on his face.

Steve had woken up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a Tumblr now. justajellyfish. I accept requests and prompts from Tumblr, my email, justajellyfish102@gmail.com, and wattpad, JustAJellyfish102. So yeah... send me stuff. Or follow me just cause you want to...

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know it was short. I'm sorry. They get longer.
> 
> So what'd you think? Is this fic worth my time? I love comments and reviews like a snowman loves sunshine. They make me melt. Into a puddle of happiness.
> 
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